Oblivious
by Jess Pallas
Summary: What if there were more to Remus Lupin's bite than a badly timed stroll in the woods? Secrets emerge when a feral comes to town...
1. The Howling

Oblivious by Pallas 

**Disclaimer**: This is the house that JKR built. I am merely squatting. I do however claim squatters rights over anything not canon.

**Summary**: What if there was more to Remus Lupin's bite than a badly timed stroll in the woods? Secrets emerge when a feral comes to town...

Part One: The Feral

1: The Howling

The noise was unbelievable.

Remus Lupin forced down a wince at the blast of hot air and hard sound that rushed to greet him as he pulled open the grimy wooden door at the foot of the basement steps that plunged down from a half-lit street in the depths of Camden Town. In selecting such a location, the proprietors of this bar had chosen well – in this part of London well known for it's gothic inhabitants, a place where out of place was the norm, a few oddly dressed arrivals would not even be glanced at. There was no way to tell the dark secret that dwelled within those who opened this door.

For this was The Howling.

The place where the werewolves came to let their hair down.

Remus hated it. But he had no choice. This mission was vital to the Order and no one but a werewolf or one invited by a werewolf could enter. He wasn't certain how the distinction was made, but it was not a risk they could willingly take. This was too important.

The music – although Remus used the term euphemistically for he could think of no other purpose this blaring screech of rampant white noise and howling voices that filled the room was meant to serve – was deafening, all but shaking the rafters. Bodies writhed in every direction, some dancing and gyrating to the sounds that filled the low ceiling-ed room, others slumped against the bar, others still in dark corners talking, fighting and – well... Engaging in practices best left at home. Remus would never have described himself as a prude, but some things _really_ should be done in private.

He would never understand the people who came to this place. It advertised itself as a place where werewolves could be themselves – play the good puppy by day and the bad dog by night. Places such as this, Remus was sure, had existed for centuries, but the Umbridge legislation and the institutionalised oppression of his kind she supported had driven custom to a new high. It was a kind of rebellion, almost a twisted resistance, a shove into the underworld as the world above clamped down. But Remus feared for the direction it was taking. There were better ways to resist, he felt, than acting to the very stereotype that created such attitudes in the first place.

Biting back a sigh, Remus shifted his shoulders, trying not to show his discomfort with the somewhat unusual wardrobe he had adopted for the purposes of keeping his cover. It had felt almost ghoulish at first, borrowing the leather duster coat and assorted other items of clothing he had found lurking in the back of Sirius' closet, well worn, aged and probably not touched since his friend's motorbike phase at nineteen. But there was simply no avoiding the fact that Sirius was not coming back for them, nor that he could certainly not afford to go shopping for an outfit himself. All the same, he couldn't help the small smile that had touched his lips at the thought of what his friends would have said to see him dressed in such a way. Padfoot and Prongs would have laughed themselves _stupid_.

And he chose to remember them laughing. To wallow in his loneliness would have served no purpose – indeed, in spite of his own efforts to abate it, he had seen what it had done to Sirius, trapped in Grimmauld Place for so long. He did his friends no favours by losing his mind with grief – a lesson he had learned the hard way in 1981. He missed them and he would always miss them but he honoured their memory far better by moving on with his life.

All the same, it was a tribute to his upbringing and his friends that he was not a mindless wreck in the corner of this bar, quaffing firewhiskey and playing the monster to escape his tragic life as those around him did. Given all he had endured, it was astonishing that he had not outright turned feral.

He reminded himself to thank his father the next time he went to visit. He silently thanked his mother and his friends.

Moving carefully, and casting his gaze in search of any familiar faces, Remus made his way towards the bar. This was his third visit now to The Howling, the first two, earlier in the week, proving futile, and he was rapidly losing confidence that this meeting that Snape had alleged would occur here in the few days before the next full moon was actually going to take place. He had wondered briefly, on seeing the Potions Master's undeniable smirk at the sight of his outfit, if this was not simply a ruse on Snape's part to make him look ridiculous, half imagining the Slytherin would whip out a wizarding camera and post a picture in the kitchen at headquarters for everyone to laugh at. But no, Snape's information had been, if not necessarily yet proved genuine, at least offered in sincerity. Making Remus look an idiot was merely a glorious bonus.

Tonks had said it suited him. But fond as he was of Tonks, he wasn't sure he trusted her fashion sense. Oh well.

He had reached the bar. Settling himself on a stool at the corner of the counter, a position offering a fine vantage point of the rest of the room, he caught the eye of the grizzled, stocky barman known as Friedrek with his grubby robes and expanding bald spot. Whether it was his real name or not, Remus was uncertain. No one used their real names in The Howling. It was all part of the escape.

He'd lost count of the number of "Wolfgangs" he'd encountered. It seemed originality was not a strong suit amongst the patrons of this place.

"You again?" The barman grinned toothlessly as he approached, wiping a filthy glass with a filthier cloth. "Third time this week you've been in."

Remus gave a half-smile. "Must be getting fond of the place," he offered casually. "It's certainly different."

The barman's grin widened. "That's the aim of The Howling. Let yourself go after a hard day's pretence. Be what you are and release your true nature."

"It does bring out _something_ in people," Remus commented, biting his tongue in regards to saying exactly _what._

Friedrek grinned again, missing the hidden slight on his establishment. "Drink?"

"Firewhiskey, double, no ice."

"On it's way."

Friedrek moved off and Remus watched him go, his words playing against his mind. _Release your true nature_, he said. But that was hardly what seemed to happen here. This was the place where werewolves came to behave how they thought werewolves should behave. The true nature of the wolf was not to cavort in semi-darkness, listening to non-music and dressing like creatures of the night from bad muggle horror films. The true nature of the werewolf was the feral. The would-bes of The Howling had no idea.

Feral werewolves. The only kind of werewolf it was worth being afraid of. The reason he was sitting in this dark, noisy, godforsaken hole, praying that he didn't look as much of a prat as he felt.

There was a feral in town. And Voldemort was eager to recruit him.

It was Snape who had discovered the intention, a half overheard conversation between contacts best left to his knowledge alone. A vicious feral, exiled from Britain for many years, had returned to his old territory at Voldemort's invitation; they said he was more wolf than man, that he had a gift for chaos and a talent for vindictiveness and with Voldemort's senior ranks so depleted by the events in the Department of Mysteries, he was exactly the kind of ally the Death Eaters could use. And this was where he had chosen to meet with Voldemort's representative, on one night in the week before the full moon. Who he would meet and when, Snape had been unable to decipher. He could not even glean a name. That was where Remus came in.

He didn't even necessarily have to overhear the meeting. He just had to _be _there. The rest they could sort out later.

Friedrek returned with his firewhiskey. Fingering the amethyst ring on his right hand that was warded to dilute the effects of alcohol, Remus knocked back the shot and ordered another. Playing the empty glass in his hands, he glanced along the bar at the other half-drunk figures, at the shadowy shapes of the dancers, the swinging of the door as people came and went, settling at tables to talk together or moving onto the dance floor. He watched the dim light play against the empty glass as the firewhiskey warmed his throat as it moved downwards.

And then it started.

A strange feeling seemed to well up, a tingle that ran like chilled fingers along his spine and whispered in his blood. His head suddenly seemed to pound as his heartbeat echoed against his skull and sent a staccato shiver through his limbs. A sharp tang of pain shot through the left side of his torso, tracing the line of the vicious crescent scar that meant he was welcome in The Howling.

Remus shook his head sharply. _What _in Merlin's name was in that firewhiskey?

He had no time to dwell on it. Abruptly a young man dropped into the seat next to him, grinning almost manically, his hair slicked back and dyed jet black, his clothing making Remus feel rather more conservatively dressed, his eyes...

His eyes _golden_.

Remus' gaze snapped to the young man's hands, clutching at the counter. But the second tell-tale sign of the feral was not there. And as the young man met his stare, he realised.

Of course. Yellow _contacts_.

Must be muggle or muggle-born.

"Hey!" The young man's greeting was breathless, his movements jerky, but Remus did not miss the desperateness of his gaze. "Great place, huh?"

"Great," Remus agreed, accepting but not yet drinking his second shot from Friedrek as the barman took the young man's order. He still could not shake the strange chilling sensation that the last shot had given him.

"Never knew there were places like this until recently." The young man was bouncing on his stool, almost shouting to make himself heard over the blare of music. "Places where we can be ourselves, you know? Places where we can fit in. Nobody pretends here."

_Everybody pretends here. They just all pretend together_. _Pretending to be human by day, pretending to be wolf by night and no middle ground to be had_. Remus swallowed the urge to speak his thoughts sharply; the middle of The Howling was not the place to discuss its hypocrisy.

"I'm Fenris." The young man spoke abruptly. "Yeah, that's me. Fenris. A proper name for a werewolf."

_Oh no, you're not pretending at all_. Well, Fenris at least was a little better than Wolfgang, if just as predictable. It occurred to Remus, rather ironically, that if he were to give his name here, likely no one would believe it.

Friedrek arrived with Fenris' drink. The young man knocked it back in one swig, choking slightly but hiding it as best he could with a cough.

"This place is the best," he declared, dropping his glass back to the counter. "I wish I could just stay here, you know? Live here forever. Be free. No bloody Umbridge, no more stares. Just being what I am." The manic grin returned. The desperate eyes had never left. "I'm going to dance."

And then he was gone as swiftly as he had appeared.

Remus was uncertain if his disconcerted feeling was a residual of the firewhiskey or the talk. The sentiment he could relate to. But the _solution_...

Life for Fenris must have been desperate indeed when _this_ was the more pleasurable alternative.

He really disliked The Howling. False hope wrapped in a noisy, dirty package that would lead every person in this room down the path to oblivion. And there was almost nothing he could do to help them.

Please let the feral come tonight. He didn't want to come back here again.

He fingered his drink. The strange tingle of his spine had not subsided. His bite scar had begun to ache.

He glanced around once more in the hope of a face even vaguely familiar. Although the capture of so many leading Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries had been quite a coup, it had left the Order of the Phoenix at a peculiar disadvantage. The faces they knew, the names they recognised had now mostly been accounted for. Now, many of the Death Eaters doing Voldemort's work were unknowns, anonymous and therefore much harder to spot.

But then, a figure caught his eye, a face vaguely familiar from Moody's incessant briefings on identified Death Eaters. This was a face from the first war, albeit a low ranker, a minion of Wilkes back then as he recalled, Oldburn, or Oldstaff or somesuch other name. He was standing near the doorway having just risen from a table, whispering in hushed tones with a burly figure cast in shadows. Yellow eyes glinted against the flickering lights.

_The feral_.

Ignoring the shiver of his bones and the pain of his side, Remus started to rise.

He was too slow. In one swift motion, the feral rose and swept out of the alcove towards the door, his eyes sweeping the room. For a chilling instant, Remus could have sworn that the golden gaze had lingered a moment too long upon him.

But then the feral was gone.

Oldstaff or whatever glanced around a moment longer, his face filled with distaste and a hint of fear. The feral must have invited him inside. With the feral gone, the Death Eater was alone in a den of werewolves and he certainly knew it. As a few gazes turned in his direction, he gathered his robes and fled as well.

Remus took a breath and downed his second firewhiskey. Oddly, it seemed to settle the tingling feeling left by the first.

He had missed the meeting, it seemed. But it didn't matter. It had taken place close enough and that meant that there were other ways to gain the information.

He just hoped that Dumbledore's pensieve was still at headquarters.

Ducking his head against the heaving atmosphere, Remus slipped rapidly towards the exit and made his escape into the night.

**A/N**: Though I've written several fics for a Sci-fi show called Farscape, this is my first venture into the world of Harry Potter fanfic, although I have been reading it a great deal of late. What it has taught me is that writing fics for books is a lot harder than writing fics for TV shows, probably because in TV you know that everyone has the same imagery for the settings and the characters and you are an equal level in that you don't know what any of the characters are thinking; it's all interpretation. With a book, you can't be sure if the readers are seeing and hearing the same things as you, so you have to be more careful. And characterising the thoughts of a character that you have only seen represented by the thoughts of another character is always interesting. It's a fun challenge though. I hope I'm doing okay. :)

I have no idea how long this fic is going to be; one of my other fics that was supposed to be quick two-parter to be done in a few months, ended up 80,000 words long, taking a year to complete. I'm hoping it won't be too long since I don't have a huge amount of time to write. I'm not sure how often I will be updating but hopefully not too infrequently: I don't like to leave people hanging so I am trying to stay a couple of chapters ahead. Oh and if you are worried about the grim start, though this will have a fair dollop of angst-drama and action, I am trying to insert a few lighter moments too. Please don't despair. ;)


	2. The Pensieve

A/N: Many thanks to Chriss Corkscrew who has kindly volunteered to beta this for me in spite of her limited time. Thanks mate! :)

2: The Pensieve

The noise in The Howling was unbelievable.

"_Quietus!_"

Abruptly the volume level dropped sharply, fading back to a dull roar against the background as Alastor Moody sheathed his wand once more, his magical eye swivelling as he surveyed the now-hushed figures who danced on, oblivious to the presence of the three figures who had just materialised in their midst. It was hardly surprising though, Remus reflected, since most of those before them were probably tucked up in bed sleeping off their hangovers whilst their shadows danced their actions of the night before in the mindscape of Dumbledore's pensieve.

"Much better," Moody growled, rubbing a half-missing ear with a well-scarred finger. "No wonder you didn't hear anything, Lupin, with that racket going on."

Severus Snape surveyed the cavorting figures packed around him with a distinct sneer of distaste. "Charming," he remarked mordantly. "It's almost fit to house a dog."

"As I understand, the barman's dog died a while ago, Severus. So you're probably right." Remus ignored his former colleague's curled lip and smiled politely. He had long ago reached the conclusion that rising to Snape's remarks was a waste of time and energy – instead he responded to the jibes and barbs of the Potions Master with unfailing politeness and friendly courtesy. The fact that this mild response infuriated him far more than any amount of retaliation was merely a benefit.

"So where are you, Lupin?" Moody was still scanning the crowds, but his magical eye was little help against the false spectres of people passed several hours before – he could not see through walls that were not truly there.

"Behind you." Remus turned to face the back wall bar that he had settled at earlier in the evening. "Sitting at the count... Good _God_." His sentence broke off sharply as caught sight of himself and instinctively fingered his recently donned robes reassuringly. "I am _never_ wearing those clothes again."

Moody chuckled. "Hell's teeth, lad, compared to your friends here, you're dressed like a monk! And Tonks reckoned they suited you."

Remus regarded the old auror with a raised eyebrow. "Nymphadora Tonks is a lovely young woman, an excellent auror and a good friend. She also has _pink hair_, Alastor."

"Not every day."

"When you two have quite finished." Snape's drawling voice interrupted the rapidly spiralling conversation. "I was under the impression we were here for reasons other than discussing Lupin's _fashion statement_."

"Right." Moody was immediately all business. "So where did you see them, Lupin?"

"Over there." Remus pointed to the alcove next to the door, currently unoccupied. He glanced over his shoulder at his earlier self, sitting at the bar and now talking to Friedrek. "They must have come in around the time I got my first drink. One of the other werewolves started talking to me and I got a bit distracted."

Snape elegantly rolled his eyes but did not comment.

"Let's get closer." Moody grunted as he began to wade disconcertingly through the insubstantial figures. "I want a good look at them when they get here."

Wordlessly Remus and Snape followed his lead, moving through the half-silenced, madly leaping figures to the shadowed table tucked in beside the exit. Even as they drew free of the spectral mass, the door wafted open and two figures slipped inside.

"Bernhardt Oldstaff." Snape's eyes had fixed at once upon the short, bearded man with the hollow eyes, wrapped in dark robes who glanced around The Howling with a scarcely concealed cocktail of distaste and fear splashing his features. "Fairly low ranking until recently, and his promotion has been much by default due to his long service and the capture of so many of his seniors." He sneered. "I wouldn't trust him to charm a teacup."

Both Moody and Remus however had their attention fixed upon the dark-cloaked figure that followed him. Surprisingly not much taller than Oldstaff, he moved easily, loosely, clearly comfortable within his own skin, shrouded in a vast black cloak that shadowed his features, but Remus did not miss the golden eyes that gleamed within those depths, reflected the half-light disconcertingly from a mask of unseen features. The first sign of a werewolf gone feral was full moon eyes in human features, a wolf looking back from a human's face, the essence of what truly lay inside reflected in a wolfish gaze. It made Remus shiver to think of it.

His own feral incident, brief as it was, so long ago but never forgotten, remained one of the worst moments of his life. He would never understand how anyone could _live_ that way.

He could feel Moody's eyes drilling into him – he could guess the old auror's thoughts. He and Dumbledore had been the only witnesses that terrible day, November 2nd 1981 and he owed his freedom to their silence and understanding. In respect of that, he kept an iron grip on his moods and always wore the amethyst ring when he drank. He would not make the same mistake again.

A twinge of old pain around the crescent of his bite scar jerked him out of his dark thoughts – absently he rubbed his left side. Although the strange feeling had faded on leaving The Howling earlier than evening, his old scar had continued to ache in the wake of whatever the hell had been in that firewhiskey. After admitting his odd turn at the bar during his debriefing, he had, at Moody's insistence, submitted himself to an examination by Hestia Jones, a St Mungo's healer when she wasn't working for the Order. She had failed to hide her wince at the sight of his terrible bite scar but had given him as clean a bill of health as a werewolf could have three days prior to the full moon. He could only assume it had been something in the drink that had disagreed with him.

By now, the death eater and the feral has settled into the alcove – the feral's hood was still in place, but Remus could see the glint of his unnaturally sharp canines as he smiled. His pale fingers drummed absently on the table, the short, dark, vicious claws protruding from their tips cutting chips from the battered wood surface. The death eater was eyeing this with distinct unease.

Moving forward, Moody craned in to peer more closely at the hooded feral – it must have been disconcerting that his magical eye could not cut away the shadows here. Drawing his wand once more he waved it across the alcove.

"_Sonorus!_"

The death eater, Oldstaff, had leaned forwards towards the feral, his lips moving and abruptly his words became audible once more.

"...why you wanted to come in here, of all places. What if someone overhears?"

The feral gave a throaty chuckle but there was no humour in the sound – his voice when it came was a hoarse, gravelled drawl that seemed to curl around the edges of his words languorously as though speaking in a tongue not quite familiar. "You'd rather stand outside? In the clear night air, where even a whisper carries for miles? No one in here is listening. No one in here _cares_. And with this fine racket, they would not hear even if they tried."

Moody smiled smugly. "That's what _he_ thinks. Pensieves as spy tools. One of the best ideas we ever had. As long as your spy is close enough, they don't even need to hear what's said."

"Who is he?" Snape had moved forward to Moody's side.

Moody grunted. "Not sure yet. But the voice rings a bell. Wish he'd take that blasted hood off – my eye's useless in here."

The feral was speaking again. "I got your master's messages. I'll admit it intrigues me. So much offered – and all he wants in return is this Potter boy dealt with?"

Remus jerked and met Moody's glance with a frown. He could tell the auror did not like the sound of this any more than he did. Snape's expression was impassive.

"What do you know about Harry Potter?" Oldstaff was clearly nervous – his eyes kept straying to the feral's clawed fingertips.

"Nothing before the message. I've been...out of touch." The feral snorted to himself. "But I have looked into it since. A fascinating child, but a child nonetheless and I have dealt with children before. I don't see that he will be much of a problem. I have a few ideas."

The slow unfolding of his shadowed smile was like a rictus. It was more a bearing of teeth than a sign of pleasure.

"Then you'll do it?" A hint of relief flashed across Oldstaff's place at the feral's nod.

"What shall I tell my master? How soon shall it be done?"

"It will be done as soon as I have the time and inclination to do it. These things cannot be rushed. Tell him to have patience. I will deliver both the boy and the chaos he requires and I shall enjoy myself into the bargain. I do not do this for his precious ideology – I have no loyalty to his cause or even his reward. I do this because it will be _fun_."

Oldstaff looked doubtful once more. "You will not take the Dark Mark?"

Slowly, coldly, his eerie golden eyes never leaving Oldstaff's face, the feral drew back his tunic sleeve to expose vicious red teeth marks that scraped the length of his arm.

"I already have one mark to show the world what I am," he drawled softly. "I do not need another."

Suppressing a shiver, Oldstaff rose hurriedly to his feet. "The Dark Lord expected your loyalty, Kane."

Moody's gasp jerked Remus' attention away from the concluding conversation.

"_Kane?_" he heard the old man hiss. For a moment his enormous eye darted towards Remus but twisted away when he caught the younger man looking. "Oh Hell's teeth, we're in more trouble than I thought."

The feral – Kane – chuckled again, rising in one swift motion. "He can expect what he wants."

With a vicious smile, he swept past the speechless Oldstaff, his eyes flashing as they passed across the room.

And lingered a moment. A spark of indefinable emotion glinted.

And then he was gone.

Remus felt himself shiver. He thought he had imagined that the feral's gaze had paused on him. Apparently, he hadn't.

Moody had seen it too. His mismatched eyes fixed sharply on Remus.

"You never told me he saw you," he reprimanded abruptly.

Remus shrugged, trying to shake off the unpleasant chill that had settled in his stomach. "I didn't realise he really had," he admitted. "I assumed I had imagined it."

"_Never_ assume!" Moody's outburst caused both Remus and Snape to jump. "_Constant vigilance!_ What if he recognised you?"

"Why should he?" Remus stared, bemused at the auror's sudden incandescent fury. "He's never met me."

Something indefinable glinted in Moody's normal eye. Abruptly he turned away.

"Well, there's nothing to be done now." He paused, watching as the memory Remus left the counter and hurried out of the door. "What matters is we've made an identification. Abraham Kane has a ministry file the size of Hogwarts library. It shouldn't be too hard for Tonks or Shacklebolt to find."

Abruptly the scene around them faded to grey; with a misty swirl and a slight moment of disorientation, the three were standing once more in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place. Glancing at his two companions, Remus wordlessly retrieved his memory from the pensieve on the desk.

"You seem to know of him." Snape stepped smoothly around the desk.

Moody grunted. "Bloody should. I helped drive him out of this country more than thirty years ago. Hoped he'd perished somewhere over the years but apparently not. I suppose it was too much to ask a character like Kane to die quietly."

"What did he do?" Remus asked quietly, lifting the pensieve from the desk and following the auror and the professor towards the door.

Moody shot him a sharp look as he moved into the hall. "What didn't he? Orphaned street kid, bitten by a feral when he was ten. The feral, Hel she called herself, she was just a teenager but she thought it would be fun to keep the kid around, mess with his head a bit, start herself a pack. Soon made a name for themselves, leaving blood and bodies wherever they passed, killing maliciously just for the _fun _of it. You can thank the two of them for Umbridge and her ilk – oh, people were always nervous about werewolves but these two really stirred them up and the memories die hard. The Prophet had a field day." Moody pulled a face. "By the time they hit their twenties, he and Hel had both the Werewolf Capture Unit and the aurors out for their blood. The Ministry gave us permission to use any means necessary – so you know what that means."

"Unforgivables." Snape had started down the stairs, glancing disdainfully at the severed elf heads as he passed, Moody a few steps behind and Remus trailing.

"Exactly. We cornered them, Hel caught an Avada Kedavra from one of my team, Orestes Bevan, nice chap he was, with a young family, wife and two kids." Moody's face hardened. "Kane escaped and slaughtered the lot of them. Then he fled the country before we could tear him limb from limb."

They descended into the hall in silence.

Snape waited until they had passed the heavily curtained portrait of Mrs Black and entered the basement kitchen before speaking. "So you believe he will have no qualms about going after Potter?"

"As I said, he's targeted children before." There was an evasive discomfort to Moody's tone that Remus caught immediately. "Younger than Potter too. He wouldn't even see there was a difference. All bloody playthings or food to him. You heard him. He kills for the fun of it. He'd kill Potter and anyone else in his way without blinking."

Snape sighed. "Where is Potter at the moment?"

"The Burrow," Remus offered as he placed the pensieve on the kitchen table. "He went to stay with the Weasleys a few weeks ago. A few of us have been taking turns to drop round, help Molly and Arthur keep an eye on things. I think Tonks is there right now."

"I think, under the circumstances, it is time for him to return to Grimmauld Place." Snape picked up the pensieve abruptly and moved towards the door in a sweep of black robes. "I will inform the headmaster. _Werewolves_," he muttered as he hastened from the room. "They're more trouble than they're worth."

Moody moved after him almost at once. "I'll get hold of Shacklebolt, see if he can lift us a copy of Kane's file," he grunted shortly. "Nice job, Lupin. See you later."

In moments, both had ascended the steps and moved out of sight, fading footsteps, the clunk of Moody's wooden leg and then the opening and closing of the front door.

Remus was suddenly alone.


	3. Secrets

3: Secrets 

It had taken Remus several hours to shake the disconcerted feeling that tailed after him following the events of the night before. He lay on his bed in his darkened bedroom at Grimmauld Place, glancing at his book without reading the words and letting his mind race. Why had Moody been behaving so strangely around him? Remus was no fool – Alastor had been uncomfortable with him ever since they had encountered the pensieve version of the feral Kane. He could only conclude that the encounter had brought back bad memories for him of Kane's reign of terror and such memories in close proximity to another werewolf he had seen give in to his wolf side, however briefly, must have been unsettling.

It was unsettling for Remus too. Did Moody not trust him? Had he ever? Did he expect him to turn at any moment and leave a trail of bloody destruction just like Kane?

He forced himself to stop thinking that way. It had been a long time ago. A moment of weakness in extraordinary grief. Alastor had understood that.

Unless he thought he was grieving again. He had reason to.

With a sigh, Remus gave up on trying to read and closed the book, depositing it on his bedside table as he rose to his feet and made for the door. Brooding alone was getting him nowhere. It was time for a cup of tea.

It wasn't until he had passed the foot of the stairs and was halfway down the hall that he realised the kitchen was occupied. A familiar voice cut through the air.

"...should take Lupin off this mission immediately. Merlin knows what'll happen if Kane gets too near him."

Remus froze. Oblivious to his presence, down in the kitchen Moody continued. "The lad's the spit of his dad and Kane knows Rey Lupin by sight. Crazy as Kane may be, he's quick. He'll have known who he is."

"Have you told Reynard that Kane has returned?" So it was Dumbledore that Moody was speaking to. Ignoring the cold feeling in his stomach and a hint of guilt at eavesdropping on his former headmaster, Remus leant against the wall and listened silently.

"Owled him as soon as I could. Knew he'd want to know." Remus frowned – Moody had contacted his father? He knew the two of them were friends from a long time back – his father had worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures for many years and had often collaborated with the Aurors on particularly difficult cases. But why call him now?

But Moody had continued. "Poor sod. Can't imagine what he'll think. But after what happened... He deserves to be warned."

There was a pause. Dumbledore spoke softly.

"Does Remus know?"

A good question. Remus leaned forward carefully, hoping that Alastor's magic eye would not roll his way. He could hear the clank of Moody's wooden leg on the hard stone of the kitchen floor. The old Auror was pacing.

"I don't think so, but the lad hides things well. I'm worried, Albus. I'm sure what happened with Black has upset him more than he'll admit and Kane on top of it..." Moody's grizzled voice was hushed. "He went feral once; oh yes, it was over quick enough and never again since, but it happened and there's no avoiding it. I can't help thinking Black's death and Kane's presence together might..."

"I have faith in Remus, Alastor." Dumbledore's voice cut sharply across Moody's statement like a knife that sliced away the remaining words. "I trust he will not repeat the mistakes of the past. He is stronger now." There was a pause. "But all the same, I shall be removing him from this mission, at least for now. I have another task for him. I assume he is here?"

There was no time to ponder the strangeness of the conversation. Remus backed down the hall as silently as he could manage, straining his ears for the sound of footsteps. When he reached the stairs, he hurried soundlessly up to the lower landing and paused a moment to catch his breath before proceeding more loudly back down, praying he hadn't been noticed. By the time he reached the hall, Moody was passing the portrait of Mrs Black as he wrapped himself in his vast cloak and made for the door. His eyes, large and small, fixed on the younger man.

"Dumbledore's here," he informed him gruffly. "He wants a word with you. In the kitchen."

Remus nodded with a smile. "Thanks Alastor."

Moody merely grunted. A moment later he pulled open the front door and departed.

Remus stared after him for a moment. What in Merlin's name was going on?

But Dumbledore was waiting. Forcing aside, his confusion, Remus turned and walked down the hall.

---------------------------------------

The full moon arrived as it inevitably did. There really was no avoiding it.

But despite the intense pain of the transformation, and the remembered loneliness of absent companions, this night was not the torture for Remus that it had been. Once the bane of his life, a time of mindless, half-remembered violence and shadowed horrors, the full moon had become a time of contemplation, a time to think over the events that had passed in his human life, a time, ironically, to get his head straight.

He needed it now. The last few days had almost spun his head from his shoulders.

He was going back to Hogwarts. He couldn't believe it.

He had refused at first, just as he had the year before. He had expressed disbelief that Dumbledore had even asked.

He was a werewolf. The governors knew it. The parents knew it. The students knew it. The Ministry knew it. After his exposure in the Daily Prophet, most of the _Wizarding world_ knew it. And after what had happened last time, all would agree that it wasn't safe to have a werewolf in the school. _He _agreed it wasn't safe. The students would fear him. The parents would write. The governors would protest. The Ministry would have fits.

Dumbledore had smiled serenely. Remus had known then and there that he'd lost.

They would take extra precautions, he had said. They would take more care. They students he had already taught loved him; those he had not would quickly learn to. He would write to the parents. He would speak to the governors. The Ministry, he believed, had far too many problems of their own to care. He had no one else to turn to – Dolores Umbridge was, Remus conceded, the very dredges at the bottom of a very well scraped barrel – and would not wish to if he did. With Voldemort exposed, the children needed a good Defence teacher above all else. And with the new threat against Harry, he needed someone he could trust to keep an eye out for him.

Remus wasn't convinced. But he had given in.

So he was going back to Hogwarts.

It was a strange feeling. He couldn't decide whether he was ecstatic or apprehensive. The truth, he suspected, lay somewhere in between.

He had already had one thought however, on how he was to keep an eye out for Harry. He just hoped Harry had brought it with him.

Whilst he had been closeted upstairs in his bedroom, exhausted and nervous for the day preceding his transformation, the Weasleys and Harry had descended once more on Grimmauld Place. There was no mistaking the sound of them rampaging through the hallways – it made Remus smile in spite of his need for sleep. Molly had knocked cautiously on his door as he rested the afternoon before his change, peering reluctantly inside and offering a meal. He had politely declined, thanked her for her consideration and requested he not be disturbed until at least mid-afternoon the next day. The bellowing shouts directed at her rampant children, orders issued at full volume that they must be quiet and not wake him made him grin.

He had spent quite a bit of time with the Weasleys over the summer. Harry had been relocated there just two weeks after going to the Dursleys – with the loss of Sirius still raw, it had seemed best to place him somewhere with people who could show sympathy and understanding for his loss and that place was not Privet Drive. And with its memories and associations of Sirius, Grimmauld Place too had seemed a bad idea, at least initially. So the Burrow had been firmly warded and at least three Order members were present at all times during Harry's stay, various combinations of Molly, Bill and Arthur together with whoever happened to be available at the time.

It had left Grimmauld Place very quiet, but Remus hadn't much minded – with so much free time due to his previous unemployment, he was at the Burrow on duty a great deal in any case. He had been fed ruthlessly by Molly, who seemed to regard his thinness as a personal insult, chatted with Arthur and the children and spent more than a little time talking with Harry. James and Lily's son seemed to be coping a great deal better than he had to begin with, but with all such things, healing was a matter of time. Given his own track record with grief, Remus did not feel he was in much of a position to judge.

He hadn't given much thought to the conversation he had overheard between Dumbledore and Moody, mostly because it mystified him. At first he had assumed that it was concern regarding his feral incident in 1981 – that Moody somehow believed that close proximity to a feral might rekindle the feral flame in himself. But why would Dumbledore have then turned around and offered him a job at Hogwarts? If they feared his turning feral, surely that was the last place they'd want him to be. And what did his father have to do with all of this? What wasn't he being told?

_Does Remus know?_ Those three words haunted him. Remus didn't know and he was starting to wonder if he wanted to. The entire business had left a cold chill against his heart. Just what was going on?

One thing was for sure. He was off the mission. And although he felt a kind of ashamed relief that he would not have to return to The Howling and its desperate, deluded souls for the foreseeable future, it had also sealed closed any chance he had of learning the truth behind his exclusion.

Remus uncurled his lupine body on the rug, stretching his limbs and sighed as he laid his head down to sleep. Like the patrons of The Howling, unknowing of the terrible price that the fulfilment of their wolfish desires would entail, it seemed that he was destined to remain oblivious. That certainly seemed the intent.

Half-knowledge was a dangerous thing. Ignorance was bliss.

And deep down, a part of Remus wished to be oblivious once more.

Morning came and with it the pain and relief of the transformation back – another full moon passed. Remus had hauled himself off the carpet, deposited his sore and weary body in his bed and promptly slept like the dead until well after noon. Mid-afternoon had seen Molly's return, a hesitant knock and an offer of tea and biscuits and this time he had accepted, propping himself up on his pillows and ignoring Molly's fussing about his hagged post-change appearance as he sipped his drink and chewed on his chocolate biscuit. He promised to make an appearance at dinner.

Remus smiled to himself as she bustled from the room. There was something about Molly that reminded him of his mother, the care, the fussing, the concern to the point of spoiling at times. He still remembered watching his Muggle-born mum as she tucked him into bed after his changes, making sure that his drink and his book were in reach, that he'd taken his tonics, that he was comfortable, that his pyjamas didn't chafe his wounds, that he would call or ring the little bell she placed next to his bed if he needed _anything_ at all and she would be right there. He remembered his father standing against the doorframe, catching his son's gaze and rolling his eyes with a grin.

They'd cared so much, his mum and dad. He'd been their miracle baby, their first child to reach full term after many years of trying and his complicated birth had meant he would also be their last. And then, aged just three, he had been bitten.

Fate could be very unkind.

His parents had been heartbroken of course. But they had never abandoned him. Through thick and thin, they fought for him and stayed by his side. He couldn't have asked for better parents than Reynard and Diana Lupin.

Remus sighed. He missed his mum. She had given up so much for him, personally and professionally, abandoning a lucrative career as a Potions Mistress in order to focus on finding a cure for her son. Gone for four years now, lost in a stupid accident, he still half-expected the letters she used to send him after every full moon just to make sure he was all right. Every one had made him roll his eyes fondly just like his father in the doorway but he longed for that amused exasperation now it was gone.

He needed to visit his father soon. He had missed Christmas due to Arthur's attack and, loath to leave Sirius alone at Grimmauld Place, it had been far too brief a stay at Easter. He'd been neglecting him.

And perhaps, just perhaps he might have answers.

He finished his tea alone.

**A/N**: Just to clarify, at this point of the fic, we are in mid to late August before the start of Harry's sixth year. I'm not sure I ever made that clear. :) Feedback and reviews will be greatly appreciated and make me ridiculously happy. -smiles hopefully- ;)


	4. The Marauder

**A/N**: This chapter was originally the second half of chapter three. However, since I am utterly incapable of writing anything concisely, it grew and lengthened and spawned a rather lighter chapter all its own. Enjoy...:)

_4: The Marauder_

Dinnertime rolled around. Pulling on his shabby robes and ignoring the creak of his weary bones, Remus made his way downstairs towards the pool of light and cacophony of sound that was a kitchen full of Weasleys.

And full it was. Although Arthur, it seemed, had yet to return from work, Bill was helping his mother ladle stew onto the plates hindered as much as helped by the twins. Ron, Ginny and Harry were clustered together at the far end of the table, packing away a set of gobstones to make room for their servings, whilst Nymphadora Tonks, who appeared to be joining them, lingered rather anxiously just out of Molly's range. Evidence that she had already tried to help lay in the cracked plate that Mrs Weasley herself was repairing.

"Honestly Tonks, you really need to be more careful... no, no, just sit down dear, we can manage, _really_..."

"But I wanted to help! I'm sorry about the plate..."

"I know dear, but really, just _sit down_."

Looking vaguely distressed, Tonks plonked herself unceremoniously down next to the grinning twins and spotted Remus lingering in the doorway.

"Wotcher Remus," she greeted brightly, eying him with concern as he moved slightly unsteadily into the kitchen and settled himself at the table. "You look _rough_, mate. You all right?"

"_Tonks!_" Molly reprimanded sharply. "Don't be rude!"

Remus bit back a grin as he stretched slightly against the protesting aches of his body and rubbed his cheek with the heel of his hand. "That's quite all right, Molly. I _do _look rough, after all. And I'm fine thank you Tonks."

Tonks grinned at him as she collected her now mended plate. Molly gave him an uncertain smile.

Remus knew that smile. Five, four, three, two...

"Are you really sure that you're fine, Remus dear? You _are _very pale. Perhaps you should go back to bed for a bit and rest."

Considering she'd all but insisted on his presence at dinner, Remus found this a little inconsistent, but he refrained from saying so. Molly's attitude towards him had always left him slightly puzzled. He knew from the too familiar half-glances at the mention of his condition and her nervousness regarding the presence of a werewolf in her husband's ward at Christmas, that Molly Weasley, in spite of her efforts to feel otherwise, was not fond of the idea of werewolves. But somehow, from the first day they had met, this nervousness did not seem to include him. She treated him instead much like she treated her grown up sons, with a kind of fond protectiveness and good-natured fuss that was both sweet and exasperating at once. Remus could only assume that her children had put in a good word for him.

"I really am fine, Molly," he reassured her quickly. "I've been doing this for almost thirty-four years now. I know my limits."

Molly did not look convinced. But she made no further comment as she handed him a plate of stew and settled down beside him to eat.

"Hey Professor Lupin." Ron deposited himself in the other seat next to Remus, Harry beside him. "Bill said he heard Moody say that you were coming back to Hogwarts this year. Is it true?"

In spite of himself, Remus smiled at the gratifying enthusiasm in Ron's voice as he lifted a spoonful of stew. "Yes, it's true."

Ron's joyful whoop almost caused him to spill it. Harry and Ginny were also grinning broadly.

"About time we had a decent teacher again." Ron informed him happily. "Hermoine'll be thrilled; she was worried we'd get another dud or something."

"Couldn't have been any worse than last year though," Fred chipped in from across the table. "Mind you, an illiterate hippo in a tutu would have done a better job than Umbridge."

Several spoonfuls of stew were snorted.

Molly sniffed. "Honestly, though I won't hear a word against Dumbledore, I do wonder sometimes at the staff he employs. Not you, Remus dear, obviously," she added hurriedly. "And of course Minerva McGonagall, strict but fair, though she'd just started out, of course, when Arthur and I were at school. But Severus Snape..."

She paused at the murmured assent of seven people at the table who had suffered through Snape as a teacher and one who had suffered him as a colleague. "I'm sure he's a marvellous potions brewer but I've never seen a worse hand with children. What on earth possessed him to go into teaching, I will never know."

"A vindictive desire to see others suffer?" George suggested with a grin.

Molly gave her son a _look_ and continued as though he had not spoken. "I remember my first Potions teacher," she reminisced wistfully. "Wonderful woman. Ever so patient. Even Arthur enjoyed her classes and he's a potions disaster. We were all so upset when she left." She fixed Remus with a glare of mock reproach. "And it was all _your_ fault!"

Remus chuckled at the mystified stares of his companions. "I like to think my father had _something_ to do with it." He bore Molly's exasperated smile at the comment with good grace. "But seriously Molly, I didn't know you'd been taught by my mum."

"Oh yes, first and second year before she went and got herself pregnant and resigned." Molly smiled fondly. "You're very like her, you know. Oh, not in looks, not at all, but you've the same streak of kindness in you, the same ease of manner. It's a pleasure to see. You remind me of her very much."

Remus was beginning to understand a little better why Molly had such a soft spot for him. "Thank you," he said sincerely, raising his goblet to his lips.

Molly's smile was suddenly mischievous. "I changed your nappy once."

Remus almost choked. The far end of the table exploded with laughter.

"How _recently?_" Remus was fairly sure that the comment had been Fred's although he was rather occupied at the time with trying not to hack up his lungs. Molly ignored the remark and the dull roar of sniggers determinedly.

"Professor Lupin brought you in to class one day to visit us a few weeks after you were born. She let me hold you and later I changed your nappy. It was the first time I'd ever tried." Molly was smiling again "I made a bit of a mess of it, I'm afraid. It flopped right off when she picked you up and when I tried to rescue it by magic, well..." She grinned ruefully. "I suppose there are better ways to get a boy's attention than accidentally banishing a nappy at him, but it certainly worked on Arthur."

At the far end of the table, the five teenagers appeared to be having hysterical seizures. Tonks and Bill weren't doing much better.

Remus could feel a blush spreading across his face. He stared determinedly at his meal.

"Glad I could help with your courtship," he muttered desperately, praying for a change of subject. His prayers went unanswered.

"She brought you back again the same time the next year and the next couple of years after that," Molly continued relentlessly. "And she let me look after you several times. But she never came back during our seventh year. I remember asking Minerva McGonagall why not. She told me..." Molly's voice dropped to a sudden hush as she stared down at the tabletop. "She told me you'd fallen ill."

The laughter stopped abruptly. There was an uncomfortable silence.

It was Tonks who intervened to lift the sudden curtain of gloom, sallying forth with deliberate and determined cheerfulness. "Hey Molly, I don't suppose you've got pictures of baby Remus? I can just imagine him curled up in a nappy, sucking his thumb and gripping his tiny cup of tea."

The ensuing laugh relieved the tension almost at once. Remus fixed the young Auror, her hair this evening an eye-aching bright green, with a steely stare.

"Are you making fun of me?" he declared with mock solemnity.

Tonks' grin was wicked. "No, Remus. If I was making fun of you, I would be describing that fetching leather and hide ensemble that you..."

"_Yes!_" Remus leapt sharply in to cut off the rest of her sentence. "_Thank_ you Tonks! That's _quite_ enough." The blush was back. Remus could feel eight pairs of eyes drilling quizzically into him

"It was for a _mission_," he added defensively. "_Never _again."

The sniggers were back. He was learning to hate the sniggers.

"Awww..." Tonks was not letting this go. "But it looked so _good_ on you..."

It was definitely time to change the subject. Casting around desperately, Remus hit upon the question he had intended to ask Harry before the term resumed. He had hoped to do it in private, but these were desperate times and they called for desperate measures.

"Harry?" he exclaimed desperately.

The teenager glanced up at once. "Yeah, Professor?"

Remus smiled more securely. "In honour of my return to Hogwarts, I was wondering if you could do me a favour."

Harry was regarding him with not entirely unfounded uncertainty. "What kind of favour?"

"I was wondering if I could borrow the Marauder's Map."

Simultaneous explosions occurred as both Weasley twins projectile choked their second helpings of stew.

"_Fred! George!_"

But neither Fred nor George were paying any attention to their mother. Both were staring, wide eyed and open mouthed at Lupin. Their expressions of shock were identical.

Remus regarded them uncertainly for a moment. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine!"

"Great!"

"Wonderful!"

"Magnificent!"

Both twins switched their gaze with almost unnatural speed. Both glared daggers at Harry.

"Anyway..." Remus felt this was a good time to move on. "How about it, Harry? I don't want to keep it, you'll have it back before the beginning of term, don't worry. I just want to make a copy."

Harry raised his eyebrows, ignoring the grilling glare of Fred and George as he addressed his teacher. "You can make copies?"

Remus shrugged. "Well, it's not easy but it's easier than starting from scratch. And if I'm going back to Hogwarts, it might be a useful thing to have. Don't worry, I won't spread it round the staff room. It'll be for personal use only."

Harry grinned at that. "Okay. You want it now?"

"If you've got it here."

"It's in my room. I'll get it."

"Thank you."

"Harry, mate!" Fred rocketed to his feet with such violence that the table rocked. With George only a step behind, he bolted around the table. "Can we have a word?"

The twins all but pounced on Harry as he started for the door, flinging their arms around his shoulders as they bustled him up the steps towards the hall. Remus could hear the hiss of their indignant voices as they retreated.

"You told _Lupin_ about the map? He's a _teacher!_"

"What were you thinking? It's supposed to be _secret!_"

"How does he know you've got it?"

"How does he know what it is?"

"He knows I've got it because he confiscated it in third year and then gave it back to me when he left." Harry sounded vaguely amused at the twins' indignation; Remus suspected his misspent youth was about to be exposed. "But I didn't tell him anything. I didn't have to. I think there's something you should know..."

Their voices faded as they reached the stairs. Grinning broadly, Remus turned back to the table to be met by a wide selection of intrigued and suspicious gazes. So much for drawing attention away from himself.

Tonks was the first to venture the obvious question. "What's the Marauder's Map then?" she inquired cheerfully.

Remus did his best to sound casual as he got to his feet and carried his plate to the sink. Ron's snickering didn't help. "Just a little toy that my friends and I cooked up at school." He stared over his shoulder in the direction of the departed twins. "I'd always wondered how Harry got his hands on it, but I think I'm starting to get the idea."

"It is dangerous?" Molly's voice was vaguely accusatory.

Remus shook his head firmly. "Of course not. It's just a toy. But it can be useful and besides, it has sentimental value. I wouldn't dream of taking the original off Harry but I wouldn't mind a copy for myself – for old times sake."

That seemed to satisfy Molly. Bill and Tonks both had the twinkle of suspicion in their eyes, but their wide grins implied that neither was planning to try and expose him. He grinned back appreciatively.

He'd always wondered how the map had come to fall into Harry's hands. It was a question that he had never quite got around to asking. He knew that the map had been sealed into Filch's filing cabinet of doom towards the end of their seventh year after James and Sirius had taken one risk too many. But in spite of the loss, neither had really minded – they had declared it bequeathed to future generations and it certainly hadn't stopped their great prank on the last evening of term. "The Marauder Swansong" they had called it, although Padfoot and Peter had been all for "Stagsong" until James had pointed out that stags didn't sing. When Remus had then pointed out that swans did not sing either, the ensuing pillow fight had lasted almost an hour.

Ah, the Swansong. That was an evening and a half....

An idea had begun to form in Remus' mind, the kind of idea that he had long though lost without the terrible influence of Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, the kind of idea in fact that would be perfect for taking his mind off things in one sense, and bringing some closure in another. He started to grin in spite of himself.

He shouldn't. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

Would he?

Harry returned with the map a few moments later. Remus accepted the familiar tattered piece of parchment with a smile. "Thank you Harry. I'll have this back to you as soon as I can."

He turned towards the doorway only to find his way blocked by two redheaded statues that bore a striking resemblance to the Weasley twins.

Fred and George were staring at him as though they had never seen him before in their lives. Their mouths were hanging open. Their eyes were wide and filled with a cocktail of shock, respect and glee. Their expressions were almost awestruck against a pair of broad and euphoric grins.

Remus glanced at Harry. Harry grinned.

The werewolf raised an eyebrow in mock indignation. "Harry Potter! Have you been spreading rumours about me?"

Harry's grin widened. The twins' jaws slackened even further even as their eyes brightened.

"It's _true?_" Remus wasn't sure if it was Fred or George who spoke. "_You_ made it?"

Remus chuckled. "I helped. I also picked the password."

Awed glee melted into mischievous reverence. Remus found it strangely satisfying, a tingling reminder of a long forgotten time. Perhaps he _would _after all. Just this one last time. But he couldn't do it alone...

"Actually, Fred, George, if I might have a word..." Remus tucked the map safely into his robes and placed a hand each on the twins' shoulders as he guided them towards the door. "I think there's something you can help me with..."

**A/N**: This is kind of random but... Regarding the age of Molly Weasley. I prefer to calculate the ages of Charlie and Bill Weasley by the more canon consistent "clues from POA" method rather than the less logical (ironically enough) "JK said in chat" – this makes Charlie seven years older than Percy because they last won the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor when Charlie was seeker, seven years before Percy was Head Boy. This means that in OotP, Charlie is around 26/27 years old, which, assuming Bill is two years older, puts him at 28/29. If we believe that Molly and Arthur married and began reproducing in their late teens/early twenties, that puts them in their late forties to early fifties. Therefore, given that Snape (and therefore almost certainly Remus) is 35/36 in OotP (on this matter I do believe the chat) that means Molly was in her first few years at school when Remus was born. Not that it matters. I just enjoyed working it out. :)

**Reviewer Responses**:

**BlacknWhiteMimes**: I'm glad you like the idea. :) I've noticed in reading HP fanfic that most Remus bite fics tend to be along very similar lines – a small child wandering off into the dark woods on his own to get bitten. Whilst this is perfectly feasible and indeed most likely, I've always thought his parents must have been pretty careless for that to be the case, so I decided to write my own rather more complicated explanation...;)

**BlackHorntailJunior**: I'm glad you like it so far. And your wait is over for now.... :)

**Astronut**: You've picked out all the things I strive for in my writing there so thank you very much! And as for giving away information too soon – believe me, this is just the tip of the iceberg...;)

**AbiDragonfly, ArwenLumos & MiniMePink**: Glad you're all enjoying it and thanks for your reviews! (and apologies for grouping you together but there are only so many ways a girl can say thanks without a thesaurus!) :)

**Abesapien**: I'm glad you're enjoying so far though your curiosity may have to wait a while. This story is getting rather longer than I expected. :)

Thank you all very much for your reviews! They make me ridiculously happy and inflate my ego alarmingly...;)


	5. The Tribute

**A/N**: Many thanks to my beta, Chriss Corkscrew for suggesting the inclusion of the Snape scene. And I apologise for the weasel line. I really don't know where that came from...;)

_5:The Tribute_

_Silver light stained the overwhelming darkness, dappled patches that glinted and flashed at the eyes in a mockery of beauty. He could feel his own gasps for breath against his raw, painful throat, the tremble of exhausted limbs; he had run too hard, too fast but what else could he do? Branches slapped against his face, knocking him backwards again and again – desperate, sobbing and bewildered, he scrambled on all fours now, his clothing torn, blood leaking from exposed skin as he fought with all his strength to get away..._

_He could hear it coming. Just as he'd said it would._

_He had never been so scared in all his life._

_He had to hide. He had to hide now._

_A tree loomed in his path, low branches dangling within his reach; leaping desperately, he grasped at the trunk, bark crumbling beneath his small fingers as she scrabbled for some kind of purchase, the height that would take him safely out of reach._

_He was too slow._

_He heard himself scream as claws plunged into his back, dragging him down and flinging him roughly to the ground to leave him curled on his right side, trembling and sobbing against the mossy earth._

_It was over._

_A dark shape, more than twice his size loomed from the shadows, its forelimbs stained with the dark taint of his blood. Teeth glinted against the silver light of moonshine, vibrating to a low and primal growl that seemed to shiver to his very core. Golden eyes gleamed._

_It lunged._

_And then he knew nothing but pain..._

Remus flung himself bolt upright, gasping for breath. He could feel himself shaking from head to tow, an icy shiver that chilled him in ways he had not even know he could be chilled. His scar itched with an odd residual of remembered pain. He felt sick.

Breathing deeply, Remus brought his heaving stomach under control, closing his eyes as he fought back the shudders and calmed his racing heart. Only when the last of the shaking had subsided, when the feeling of nausea had passed, when the twinge of his scar had faded to nothing did Remus risk opening his eyes.

It was not the first time he had had such dreams. But they had always been vague before, glimpses of images half-seen and half-forgotten, a glint of moonlit glade, the slap of a branch, a flash of teeth. And the eyes. Always the eyes.

But this had been more. Much more.

Remus had never been able to remember the night he was bitten. He was too young, his mother had told him when he had tentatively asked about it years later, and the trauma of the event had created a wall inside his mind, a protection against an experience that no child should have had to endure. He was better off, she had said, without knowing.

Only once had he asked her how it had happened. She had burst into tears. He had never asked again.

But this dream was something else, something more than a flash of brief recollection. Remus felt almost as though something had broken in his mind; the wall his mother had mentioned, crumbling brick by brick over the years in the world of his dreams, suddenly half-collapsing to provide this sudden rush of imagery.

Remus fought back the returning shivers, staring mindlessly at the bedclothes. He could have lived without the memory. But he would just have to accept it. There was no putting it back again.

He was in no doubt that he had just relived his bite. But why had it suddenly come back to him now?

He shook himself. He shouldn't dwell on it. There was nothing he could do to change events more than thirty years in the past. Light was streaming in from behind curtained windows – it was clearly morning and probably time to be up. With a sigh he raised his head and glanced around the chamber.

He blinked. _Where was he?_

His brain clicked on. He remembered.

Of course. Hogwarts.

He had arrived the night before, apparating to Hogsmeade as the other teachers did and boarding the Thestral pulled carriage provided by Dumbledore for the ride up the school. He smiled to himself remembering his last journey to Hogwarts, three years before – exhausted by a difficult full moon that had left him too tired to apparate, too nauseous to use floo powder or risk the Knight Bus, and too disorientated to even consider taking a broom, he had nostalgically boarded the Hogwarts Express, settled himself in a compartment and had promptly fallen asleep for most of the rest of the trip. He had not expected to awaken to find the looming presence of a Dementor and his first sight of James and Lily's son in almost twelve years.

Dementors. It had been after his first encounter with a rogue Dementor, almost twenty years ago now, that these dreams had started. And although the imagery he associated with Dementors had altered since, expanding with an alarming repertoire thrown at him by life that had meant he had not been lying to Harry when he had said he was no expert against them, those brief images had always haunted him.

But he was brooding again. That had to stop.

Pulling himself out of the comfort of his warm four-poster bed, Remus checked the clock. He'd slept late. But that was hardly surprising, considering the busy night he'd had.

He grinned in spite of himself as he remembered why he'd been so late to bed. He was probably going to get in trouble. But that was nothing new.

As he had predicted, the Ministry had not been impressed with Dumbledore's choice of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. But despite a controversy that had raged several days, the Ministry of Cornelius Fudge was simply standing on ground too shaky to wage a war with an invigorated and once more respected Albus Dumbledore. Fudge, already battling calls for his resignation over his fluffing of the Voldemort issue, had tried to use this news to bolster his image once more. It had failed. After a few days, and a ringing endorsement from the headmaster on his behalf, the Ministry had folded its tents and slunk away into the night. The British wizarding community were by no means thrilled at the prospect of a werewolf teacher, but with one year at Hogwarts with (to their knowledge) no serious incidents, a good track record with the majority of the children, and Dumbledore's support, they seemed at least willing to give him a chance.

He was determined not to waste it.

But he ought to get a move on. The children would be arriving that evening and he still had much to prepare. Filing away his thoughts for the time being, Remus pulled on his robes and hurried down to breakfast.

--------------------------------------------------------

The Defence Against the Dark Arts office had changed very little in the two years since Remus had last seen it. He deposited his briefcase on the familiar desk with a grin, removing several books and slotting them easily back onto the shelves they had previously inhabited. With a matter of a few minutes work, it was as though he'd never been forced to leave in the first place and more importantly, it felt _right_. This was the place he was supposed to be. It was where he belonged.

It was a good feeling.

The house-elves had successfully wiped out all but a minor trace of the room's previous occupant. The pink, perfumed doily he uncovered in one of the desk drawers was mildly alarming, but a quick flick of the wand banished it safely into the fireplace where it curled up and burned quite satisfactorily. Remus couldn't help but feel slightly offended by it, however. If that Umbridge woman was so determined to make his life as miserable as she possibly could, the least she could do was muster the dignity to have _taste_.

It was in the midst of trying to recall exactly how his Grindylow tank was supposed to reassemble that he sensed, rather than saw the looming presence in the doorway. A quick glance at his crisp, fresh copy of the Marauder's Map, unfolded neatly on the desk confirmed his suspicion. They had successfully managed to avoid each other the evening before and yet again this morning, but it seemed that his now no-longer-former colleague had decided to get the worst out of the way before the children came.

"Severus." He did not bother to turn around. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The Potion Master's voice drifted smoothly across the office. "The Headmaster wished me to inform all the staff that the Hogwarts Express is now underway. All professors are expected to be ready and waiting in the Great Hall ten minutes before the students arrive."

Remus finally glanced up at the black robed figure lurking in his doorway and smiled. "That's useful to know. Thank you Severus."

Snape's nose crinkled in distaste as he swallowed the brief gratitude of a man he despised, his black eyes gleaming with dislike as he stared. Remus, still puzzling his way through the Grindylow tank managed to endure the scrutiny of the Head of Slytherin for a good thirty seconds before it finally became a little too distracting.

Depositing the sheet of magically reinforced glass on his desk, he met the dark gaze squarely and cheerfully. "Was there something else?"

Snape straightened himself, his eyes flashing. "I suppose you're feeling very _pleased_ with yourself."

Remus blinked. "Pardon?"

"_Worming_ your way back in here. Pity is one way to find employment, but it isn't one I'd use. Not that _I _need to."

Just as he'd expected, Severus was here to vent. Jolly good; it was just like old times. He was feeling more at home already.

He maintained the smile deliberately. "I didn't worm my way in anywhere. Albus all but ordered me to come back and I wasn't going to argue with him."

"But you were so _horrified _when he did, I suppose."

"I'm not sorry to be back, if that's what you mean." Remus turned away to hide the fading of his smile, depositing his mug and teakettle on the shelf behind his desk. "But my reasons for resigning stand."

"And yet you are back here."

Remus shrugged, his back still turned. "Albus said the school needed a good Defence teacher, especially this year. He told me there was no one else to ask."

The vast and stony silence behind him told him eloquently that this had not been the right thing to say.

"And I suppose you will expect me to continue to brew your potion for you? Given your own ineptitude?" The Potions Master all but spat the words at the werewolf's back.

Touché. "I would not expect anything, Severus." It was time to turn round again, to face the suppressed maelstrom of emotion cloaked in black robes that lingered in his office doorway as though loathe to venture into the coveted territory of an enemy.

"But I would appreciate it."

"Keep your gratitude, Lupin," Snape sneered at him with dignified poise. "I neither want nor desire it. I know what you are and now so do the students. I'll be watching you and so will they."

Remus met his gaze once more, firm and direct. "I know."

Snape's dark eyes held his colleagues' stare for an instant longer. Then with a disdainful huff, he turned and swept into the corridor.

Remus stared for a moment at the empty doorway. Severus Snape, as charming as ever. Well, that went as well as could be expected.

He could only hope the students would be a little more understanding.

In five hours, he'd find out.

---------------------------------------------------

Remus had forgotten just how noisy a hoard of children could be in the echoing halls of Hogwarts. For a moment he paused at the head of the stairs that descended down into the Entrance Hall, his slight lateness in spite of the earlier reminder allowing him to take in the mass of robed figures sweeping in chatting groups through the main doors and into the Great Hall. It was more than two years now since he had seen such a sight and almost half of these children had never known him as a teacher, only as that werewolf that they had made such a fuss about in the newspaper. Snape's words rang uncomfortably in his head. Would they be nervous of him? Would they give him a chance to prove that he was just as human as they were?

Oh well. Now or never.

He started down the stairs.

There was a distinct hush. A mass of eyes turned.

The reactions were mixed. He was flattered to note that many of the older children were beaming at the sight of him; he spotted Harry, Ron and Hermione smiling together near the main entrance, Dean Thomas and Ginny Weasley grinning arm in arm, and Neville Longbottom, who offered a small wave and a shy smile. Some, mostly Muggle-borns who had probably not witnessed the battle in the Prophet over his reappointment, seemed surprised to see him but there was pleasure too.

But the joy was anything but universal; many of the children, even some of those he had taught, seemed wary and others, most of them Slytherins, regarded him with the same outright hostility as their Head of House. Of the younger children, many of those who did not know who he was appeared confused, but those who did looked nervous.

Remus sighed. It was going to be a long year.

He started across the Entrance Hall. The volume began to rise once more.

But not enough. Not enough to cover the sound of the drawling voice that echoed loudly and sharply in his wake.

"Oh, look. The _werewolf's_ back."

The confused faces very abruptly joined the ranks of the nervous. The nervous had shifted towards downright terror.

Remus sighed again. First Snape. Now Malfoy. Oh _joy_.

"Dumbledore must really be scraping the barrel. What's the matter – did they run out of _human_ candidates?"

Ah, Draco Malfoy. Subtle as a Hungarian Horntail and with almost as much charm. Remus was fairly sure he could tell where this desperate display of assertiveness was stemming from. Malfoy's precious father Lucius, his backup in times of crisis, was now sequestered in Azkaban; taking pot-shots at one of the people who had placed him there seemed to be his way of trying to claw back some kind of superiority. But Remus knew this game. If there was one thing that Malfoy could not abide, it was being ignored. And if you gave him enough rope, he usually managed to hang himself.

He kept walking.

"Don't want to answer that one do you?" Malfoy's voice had risen in pitch. "Or maybe you don't understand what I'm saying at all? Perhaps I should be speaking to you in your _own_ language."

A mockery of a howl chased through the air, whooping and echoing across the Entrance Hall to skim past Remus. He stopped. Slowly, he turned to look back over his shoulder.

Malfoy was standing in the centre of the chamber, shadowed by Crabbe and Goyle, his hands on his hips as he grinned triumphantly at his teacher.

Remus simply smiled.

"Well, Mr Malfoy," he said, his voice soft but carrying decisively across the now silent room. "If you wanted to tell me that your mother stole your underpants and the weasels are coming, you could have just done it in English."

There was a moment of awestruck silence. And then the hall _erupted_.

Biting back a grin, Remus ducked his head and continued nonchalantly through the doors into the Great Hall, the vast swell of laughter bouncing from the walls behind him. It was good to be back.

---------------------------------------------------------

The feast was excellent, as always. In spite of Molly's fine cooking, he had certainly missed the Hogwarts food.

The anticipation only made it better.

Remus hoped he had timed it right. The time-lapse charm he had found in an old notebook of Sirius' was quite complicated to perform and had taken more than a little practice to perfect. If he had indeed managed it correctly, then his timing would be good – he had judged the length of the feast almost exactly. That being the case, all he had to do was wait. It was almost time...

He hoped James and Sirius were watching.

He hadn't felt this nervous in years. Sitting next to his old Head of House as he waited wasn't helping his nerves. He had yet to meet a former Gryffindor of the last thirty years who was not still in awe of Minerva McGonagall. And it was she who had caught the culprits on the last occasion this had been performed. The fact it had been the last evening of term had not prevented her from giving them one last late detention...

And then Dumbledore rose to his feet, clapping his hands for silence. _Oh yes, oh yes, come on, let this work..._

The Headmaster gazed out over the now silent hall. "If I may have your attention please..."

He got no further.

A sharp explosion followed by a long high-pitched whine cut shockingly across his words. A flash of red traced a shuddering path into the enchanted ceiling.

_BOOM!_

The firework exploded in a shower of red sparks that giggled and chuckled as they drifted towards the floor like scarlet rain, but this laughter was drowned by another whine, and another and yet another as more fireworks erupted from the carved crevices of the walls of the Great Hall, flashing and exploding in a riot of spectacular colour and noise that drowned the chamber in rainbows. Streamers, confetti and long white curls of sticky silly string catapulted out over the four house tables to settle across the bemused heads of the students like snow. Catherine wheels rolled and danced across the air, rockets whizzed and combusted in a flurry of sparks to form dragons, unicorns and hippogriffs, stags, dogs and flowers that twirled across the mimicry of the sky overhead with the joyful enthusiasm of release.

The students stared. The staff stared. Behind his vast white beard, Dumbledore bit back a smile.

Remus grinned. Merlin bless the Weasley twins. The school wasn't the same without them.

In the chair immediately to his right, an ominous throat was cleared. Arranging his expression as innocently as he could manage, Remus turned to face the steely-eyed glare of Professor McGonagall. The bangs and lightning flashes of colour cast shadows and light across the etched outlines of her features. A piece of silly string dangled unceremoniously from her hat.

"In your expert opinion, Lupin," she intoned precisely in her Scottish lilt. "How many fireworks do you believe this prank involves?"

"At a guess?" Remus rolled his eyes in apparent thought, as he picked a piece of violet streamer out of his hair and handed it to Flitwick who was cheerfully decorating his hat with them; beyond him a sour faced Snape was unsticking silly string from his hair. "I'd say somewhere in the region of... two hundred and sixty-three."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "That's very precise."

Remus smiled modestly. "Well, as you said, I'm the expert."

The Deputy Head's lips pursed but Remus had the sudden impression that she was fighting not to smile. "Don't play the innocent with me, Mr Lupin. Don't you think I know "The Marauder Swansong" when I see it? I still haven't recovered from the last time." She shook her head. "_Honestly_. I thought you were the _sensible_ one."

An excitable yellow rocket zoomed the length of the staff table, depositing golden sparks along the tablecloth with uninhibited exuberance. Many of the students had come to their feet, laughing and clapping as they stared up at the display, wading through the ever-growing debris as they pelted each other with silly string and streamers.

This time McGonagall did smile in spite of herself. "Remus, where on earth did you get them all? Have you spent your entire wage before you've earned it?"

Remus casually lifted his goblet out of the path of a careening Catherine wheel. "All supplies are courtesy of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. They were most supportive when I told them of my plans. They provided the entire display free of charge."

Minerva chuckled dryly. "I should have known. But honestly Remus, whatever I am going to do with you? I thought you'd grown out of this long ago, if it was ever your style at all."

The werewolf gave a cheeky grin. "Are you going to give me a detention?"

She regarded him with mock solemnity. "I think you're a little old for that, _Professor_ Lupin. And well beyond the point of it having any impact. Just answer me one thing. _Why?_"

Remus sobered up sharply. He regarded Minerva with a sudden seriousness. "As I'm sure you remember, this prank was played for the first time at the Farewell Feast at the end of my seventh year. It was conceived, ruthlessly planned out and executed with almost military precision by two very devious minds. It was their farewell to Hogwarts. Their swansong. A last moment of levity before the heavy reality of Voldemort and the real world set in. It's also how I think they'd want to be remembered, as they were before harsh life got in their way; as two boys who liked to have fun." He smiled softly. "Call it a tribute."

Minerva stared at him solemnly for a moment. Then she smiled too.

"It's very fitting," she said gently. "Very fitting indeed."

Remus smiled at her a final time and then turned to stare out over the mass of splashed colours and rampant sound of fireworks that vibrated through the Great Hall one final time. So much vibrancy. So much life. Only to be cut short and fade away all too soon as the fire within them died.

A fitting tribute indeed.

"Goodnight Padfoot," he whispered softly. "Goodnight Prongs. Rest in peace, my friends."

**A/N**: I'd be lying if I said I was completely satisfied with the prank I created for this chapter. Its inclusion was my nod to the events at the end of OotP; whilst I did not want this to turn into a Sirius-is-dead angst fic (simply because it is not very relevant to my plot), in setting this fic so soon after OotP, it would have been unrealistic to leave the matter unaddressed. I had a good long think about how I felt Remus might react – he's never struck me as a wallower, more as the kind to either bottle it up or find an outlet and deal. Since, as hinted as his backstory for this fic, his 1981 outlet did not prove very healthy -veg- I felt he would want to find another, more appropriate and less disturbing way to bring closure on his grief. I settled upon this tribute as a form of outlet/closure in the end, not because it is something I think he would have done himself (indeed, my beta suggested it was not subtle enough for Remus which is entirely true) but because I think it is the kind of tribute his friends would have wanted and it would be their wishes and not his own that he would consider. It was, after all, James' and Sirius' big farewell to Hogwarts and in repeating it, Remus is allowing them to say goodbye for good as he says goodbye himself. I hope that makes sense. :)

**Reviewer Responses**:

**AbiDragonfly & Howling Wolf 22**: I'm glad you both enjoyed it and found it funny – I very much enjoyed writing that chapter too. Hopefully this one will have also been good for you. :)

**BlackHorntailJunior**: I like bringing out the Marauder in Remus. I loved his sense of humour in POA and I do think he is sometimes portrayed as a little too serious. But any man who can quietly suggest dressing Severus Snape in drag must have a fairly well developed sense of fun. :)

**trevor-bruttenholm & MiniMePink**: I'm pleased you're both enjoying it! :) As for updating, I'm well ahead of myself in writing this so I am going for regular twice weekly updates, probably on Wednesdays and Saturdays. So now you know when to look out. :)

**elmtree**: Thank you very much! –beams- Staying true to canon and keeping in character are two of my watchwords in fic writing and I do try to be original, though it is very difficult when so much has already been written in Harry Potter fic. So I'm pleased you think I'm doing okay. :)

**abesapien**: No, indeed, mischief was in the works as you can see! Though it was mischief in a good cause. And Molly was much fun to write. :)


	6. The Werewolf Lesson

**A/N**: This is what I can only call my exposition chapter; a combination of important plot relevant information, significant background information and a few of my own ideas and speculations on the possible ways and means of Potterverse Lycanthropy, hopefully put together in a interesting and readable way which advances the story. I'll leave it up to you to divine which is which.... ;)

_6: The Werewolf Lesson_

The sixth year Gryffindor and Hufflepuff Defence Against the Dark Arts class at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry were staring at their teacher in stunned silence. It was not quite the reaction he'd been hoping for.

Carefully Remus leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk as he surveyed the shocked faces before him. He fought desperately not to smile.

"Is there a problem with my choice of subject matter?" he inquired innocuously.

The class blinked. A flurry of looks were exchanged.

"Ummm..." Gryffindor courage prevailed in the face of Hermione Granger. "_You're_ going to teach us about werewolves, Professor?"

This time Remus did smile. "Are you suggesting I am not an authority on the subject?"

The class gave a nervous laugh. Remus hoped it was a sign that they were starting to relax; it would be a most awkward hour if they didn't. Although he had been teaching again for almost two months now, there were still times when he felt rather as though he was on some sort of probation. Exactly who he thought was judging him, be it staff, parents or students, he had yet to establish. It didn't change the feeling though.

Oh well. Time to press on.

"I know that you have only covered this subject with Professor Snape." Remus pushed himself upright and strolled casually around to the front of his desk, leaning back against the wooden surface easily. "And I am aware that his view of werewolves has always tended to be rather one-sided."

Several class members snorted at that.

Remus continued. "But I do not intend to rose-tint this for you either. Lycanthropy is not a pleasant subject, as I know better than anyone. And although the majority of werewolves are simply ordinary people trying to find a way to live with a terrible curse, I will not deny that many of my kind are indeed extremely dangerous."

He regarded the now rapt faces of his class for a moment. "So you see, whilst I do not intend to encourage you all to join the Werewolf Capture Unit, I will not, pleasant as it might have been, be starting a campaign to Hug Your Local Werewolf."

This time the class laughed outright, melting the tension away in a heartbeat. Feeling a little more secure in his footing now, Remus allowed his shoulders to relax slightly and smiled again.

"So then, I think the best way to start this is to see what we have to build on. What do you know about werewolves?"

The first half of the lesson passed quickly in a flurry of question and answer. Remus stepped in quickly to correct several misconceptions, confirming the basic facts of a werewolf's appearance and behaviour and the effects of the change upon its human host, covering the Wolfsbane potion and even, much to the discomfort of the class, ways in which werewolves could be killed.

"Oh come now," he reprimanded easily after his description of the effects of aconite evoked a particularly squeamish exclamation from Parvati Patil and Hannah Abbott. "I'm not going to sugar-coat this and you do need to know." His gaze drifted for an uncomfortable moment to Harry, Ron and Hermione; the only three people he could be certain would fully understand. They alone in this room had seen the wild fury of his full moon half. That they had lived to tell the tale had been more luck than judgement.

"If I failed to take my Wolfsbane potion and encountered you on a full moon, I would kill you. Simple as that. I wouldn't recognise you, I wouldn't care, I would just do what comes naturally, and what comes naturally to a werewolf is tearing humans limb from limb." He sighed. "Werewolves are quick and deadly. And if you took that extra moment to remember that I was a human being a few hours before, if you hesitated to act, you would die. Because for that one night I would not be your teacher. I would not be anything but a werewolf. And I would rather that you killed me than have me kill you."

He ignored the class' distinct air of discomfort deliberately. "If there is one thing I wish you to take from this lesson, it's this. When a werewolf is human, treat him human. But on the one night a month he is a wolf, beware."

A thoughtful hush descended. Pushing his hair out of his face, Remus settled back into the chair behind his desk and gazed out at the pensive rows of faces, twitching his quill between his fingers.

"Right," he said briskly. "Now, do you have any more questions?"

Several hands rose almost at once. Remus surveyed them thoughtfully for a moment.

"Neville," he selected.

The plump Gryffindor fidgeted slightly. "Is it true that werewolves are killed by silver?"

Remus grinned. _Ah, the old urban myth_. "If you hit them hard enough with it," he replied with a friendly smile. Neville gave a sheepish grin as the class laughed. "To my knowledge, which on a matter such as this I like to think is pretty extensive, silver has no more effect on werewolves than any other metal. I can handle sickles just like the rest of you. There is a Muggle legend that says that werewolves can be killed by a silver bullet shot through the heart, but frankly if you shoot any kind of bullet into a werewolf's heart, it's a fair bet you'll kill it. Next?"

He considered the coppice of hands once more. "Dean."

The young man regarded his teacher uncertainly. "When I was in Diagon Alley, there was this guy protesting about werewolves. He said..." He hesitated, unsure, but Remus' gentle nod encouraged him onwards. After all, there was very little he could say that his teacher had not heard before. "He said all werewolves should be locked up because they're too difficult to stop. He said they're immune to _stupefy_ and the Killing Curse. Is that true?"

Remus pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Partly. You've brought up a very good point Dean, thank you. " He rose to his feet once more, tapping his quill on the desk before dropping it back into the ink pot. "Listen carefully to this – if you encounter a werewolf on full moon some day, this could save your life. Magic _does not affect_ a transformed werewolf. You can cast whatever curses and hexes you chose in a werewolf's direction, but on that one night a month they will simply bounce off. That is why werewolves are so dangerous. They cannot be directly damaged, slowed or stopped by any kind of spell. Even the Killing Curse."

"But then...I mean..." It was not like Hermione to struggle for words. "But then how are they ever stopped? How does anyone survive an attack?"

"Violence." Remus decided to be blunt. "As I said before. If you shoot a werewolf through the heart, it dies. Hitting it hard enough over the head with a large lump of silver should do it too." He smiled at Neville again, who smiled back. "A werewolf is immune to direct magic but not to physical violence. In that way, magic can be used indirectly against a werewolf. Levitating a rock or a club to drop on it, banishing something sharp in its direction, summoning a weapon with which you can defend yourself, all are effective ways of self-defence. If they don't kill the werewolf, they may just give you enough time to get away."

"But what about the rest of the time?" It was Ernie Macmillan, the Hufflepuff prefect who spoke up. "Are you immune when you're human too?"

Remus shook his head firmly. "No such luck. If you were to hit me with _Avada Kedavra_, right here and now, I would be as dead as anyone else. The same goes for _stupefy_, _impedimenta _and any other curse you'd care to name. There are only two spells that affect a werewolf differently in their human form and they are the remaining Unforgivables – the Imperius Curse and the Cruciatus Curse."

"You're immune to _Imperio_ and _Crucio_?" It was Harry's astonished voice that broke the stunned silence.

"I didn't say that." Remus sighed. How in Merlin's name should he explain this? Quietly he moved away from his desk, pacing quietly in front of the blackboard as he gathered his thoughts. The class watched and waited, almost hypnotised by their teacher's wanderings.

"The Cruciatus Curse causes as much pain to a human werewolf as it does to anyone else." Remus tucked his hands behind his back, staring determinedly at the floor as he walked. "The difference is that due to the agony of their monthly transformations, a werewolf has a much higher pain threshold. They can walk through a _crucio_ that would cripple anyone else."

He did not miss the gasps that rose from the desks before him.

"It hurts then? It's painful?" The uncertain voice belonged to Justin Finch-Fletchley. "Changing into a wolf, I mean."

Remus hesitated, gazing out at his class with firm eyes. Truth was truth and he would not lie to his students again, not after their third year. His voice, when he spoke was soft, but clear. "They say the only thing more painful than being bitten by a werewolf is transforming into one. Yes Justin, it hurts very much."

Tearing his gaze away from the horrified faces of his pupils, Remus began to pace once more.

"Now, the Imperius Curse, as I'm sure you're all aware, puts the human mind into a dreamlike state in order that it be more pliable, more open to suggestion. The victim must then watch helplessly as his or her body performs acts that they themselves do not wish. I have been told that the experience is quite blissful at the time." Remus paused, resting one hand against the wall. "Excepting the bliss, being placed under the Imperius Curse is very similar to what occurs with the mind of a Wolfsbane-free werewolf at full moon."

Remus did not look at his students just then. He did not want to see the rows of intrigued or shocked faces as he described the worst part of his monthly torture. The physical pain, oh even pain such as the contortion of limbs, the melting and reshaping of bones, the pain could just be tolerated. No, what Remus had always hated most about his transformations was the moment when he lost his mind. Discussing in front of so many the facts of his life that he had previously only described to close friends and family left him feeling vaguely exposed. But they deserved to know.

"The human part of the mind fades, drops into a kind of numbness as the wolf's mind takes control." Remus knew his fingertips were biting sharply into the wall: he tried to force himself to relax. It didn't work. "But the human mind is, in some part, still aware. The senses of a werewolf are very different to a human's, very difficult to interpret and comprehend, so the images the human takes away from the full moon are confused, half-forgotten, vague impressions, no more. But you always know that you are trapped – that this is your body, what's left of it, and you have no control. The wolf can do as it pleases and you can only watch."

He could feel dozens of eyes drilling into him – he realised that, lost in his thoughts, he had strayed slightly from his point. Shaking himself firmly, he pushed away from the wall and moved to perch on the corner of his desk. He met the curious, saddened gaze of his students with determination.

"The same, as every werewolf knows," he added softly. "Applies to the wolf during the rest of the month. It is, to some extent, aware. _Waiting_. And that is why the Imperius Curse is ineffective. The moment the victim's mind succumbs to the curse, it replicates the numbing of their mind at full moon. The moment the human mind shuts down enough for it to be controlled, the wolf steps in and takes over."

Hermione gasped. "It makes you _transform_?"

"No, there is no transformation. A werewolf can only change form under the full moon." Remus sighed. "It is a kind of inverted Wolfsbane effect. The wolf's mind takes over the human body. And there are few forces on earth more powerful. If the caster of the Imperius is lucky, they are simply thrown backwards by the force of their expulsion. If they are unlucky, the power of the backlash could kill them."

Wide-eyed horror filled the faces of the watching teenagers.

"What happens to the werewolf?" The tremulous voice was Neville's. "Once the curse is lifted?"

"That depends." The class' insightful questions were leading Remus into murky waters. He was absolutely certain that neither the Ministry nor the governors would approve of his spreading the information he was about to give to these young people. But then again, why shouldn't they know? Why shouldn't they be warned? The decision had been made not to inform Harry of the threat posed by Abraham Kane for now, but by teaching the signs of the feral in class, he could prepare him and his classmates for Kane's possible appearance without revealing covert Order intelligence.

He met the curious stares of his students. "The affect upon the human side of the werewolf often depends on the strength of the human mind. You see, once a part of the wolf has found its way into the human, it can be very difficult to put back. It takes a great deal of strength and determination to stay human on the werewolf's part in order to push the mind of the wolf back into dormancy. The wolf very rarely wants to go. This is not just something that those werewolves affected by the Imperius Curse have to deal with – it is a fact of life for every werewolf. We have to be as strong as we can, because we know that there is an enemy within who will pounce at the first sign of weakness."

"What happens?" The hushed voice belonged to Ron. "What happens if the wolf gets in?"

Remus took a deep breath. _Once more into the breech..._ "What happens is that the boundaries between the wolf and human minds are broken down; the wolf either becomes dominant or the two bleed together and become one. The phenomenon is known as turning feral."

Shudders passed through the many of the wizard-born children in the class; some it seemed had heard of ferals.

"The wolf mind is the stronger." Remus fought against uncomfortable memories that rose and battered his psyche relentlessly; firmly, he ordered himself to concentrate. "It becomes the driving force, the desire. A feral lives to hurt, to kill, to see others in pain. Any human emotion such as compassion or morality is lost, swamped beneath bloodlust. But it can have human intelligence too – it is a werewolf that can think, can plot, and its strength and senses are those of a wolf. There is very little in the world more dangerous. A feral is the only kind of werewolf it is worth being afraid of." Remus forced back a shiver at the memory of the fiery chill of wolfish desires sliding across his vulnerable mind all those years before. "There are many ways in which a werewolf can turn feral. The most frequent is simply losing the will to go on, giving in to the wolf because the human simply cannot continue to live that life; this is a common occurrence in a werewolf who has bitten another, consumed by their remorse. These ferals go insane. They become nothing but a pure wolf mind in a human body, for in giving up the human part condemns itself to the same numbness as at full moon. It is a straight swap instead of an intermingling. Ironically enough, this type of feral is less dangerous."

Remus took another deep breath – the next part of this explanation would take him into very personal realms of experience indeed. "Then there is those who turn feral by accident. As I said, the wolf is always waiting – one moment of weakness is enough. Extreme grief, misery, depression, anger or rage can provide an opening, especially in combination with alcohol. Alcohol lowers the mind's defences and heightens emotion and it can become a catalyst to disaster for a werewolf. If, even for one instant, those defences are lowered enough, the wolf will force itself through. In most cases, it is a brief incursion, a quick flash of wolf fury before the human mind manages to regain control; this is know as a feral incident and is supposed to be reported to the Werewolf Registry immediately."

"How come?" Susan Bones ventured the question. "If it goes away so soon, why does it matter?"

Remus sucked in his breath. _Oh yes, personal territory indeed_. "Because it is believed that a werewolf who has suffered a feral incident may be more prone to turning feral in the future. Therefore it has become Ministry policy in the last decade or two that if no one has been hurt, the werewolf should be sent immediately to a special facility for observation. If anyone is hurt or killed during the feral incident, the werewolf is either sent to Azkaban or executed."

"Can't see many werewolves coming forward and admitting it then." Seamus Finnegan's Irish lilt put an end to the ominous silence. "If that's what they get for it."

Remus bit his lip against the flood of unpleasant emotion. _Oh, where, oh, where is the bell? Why did I start on this topic? What was I thinking, believing I could just talk about this as though I didn't know what it means?_ Hermione's astonishment at the beginning of the lesson as to his choice of subject was beginning to seem like foresight worthy of a seer.

"Indeed not," he replied, proud of the evenness of his tone. Well, there was no going back now. He had no choice but to plough on until the end of the lesson. "The final kind of feral is easily the most dangerous. Those who turn feral by choice." The gasps were becoming commonplace in this oddly out of control lesson, careening along like a runaway hippogriff through taboo after taboo. This had certainly not been what Remus had intended for this class. "These werewolves allow the wolf mind in, permit it to dominate their humanity and take control of their lives. They are, as I described, a wolf's drive and desire combined with a human intelligence."

"Why?" Hermione's voice was a whisper. "Why would anyone want that?"

Remus allowed himself to smile in spite of his well-hidden shakiness. "You're asking the wrong person Hermione. It is the antithesis of everything I believe in." His mind wandered back to the deluded souls of The Howling, desperately seeking some kind of release without any idea of what it would mean. "Desperation, I suppose. A desire for power perhaps. A simple lack of understanding. I think some seek the feral as a freedom or strength that they feel they lack, or a better alternative to their often-victimised attempts to be human: if they are no longer allowed to be human, why not be wolf? Most probably do not realise that in becoming feral, they give up ever inch of their humanity bar the cold logic of their mind. And those that do realise deserve it." Remus sighed, his own memories of that dreadful instant tugging at him ruthlessly as he shook his head. "I cannot comprehend any person who wish that. Luckily that kind of feral is very rare."

"How can you tell?" Dean spoke nervously once more. "If a werewolf has turned feral?"

Remus gave an internal sigh of relief and silently blessed Dean Thomas for moving the conversation back into rather safer territory. "At full moon, you can't – they'll all try to kill you just the same. A feral might play with you a little more, might drag it out for the malicious fun of it – the remains of their human intelligence carry through to the full moon - but physically the wolf is no different. But the human feral is very distinctive; aspects of the wolf will merge into their human appearance. Their eyes are werewolf eyes, bright gold and very sharp. Their fingertips are topped by short, dark claws and they have unnaturally sharpened canine teeth; wolf-like in fact. They are also very strong and very fast. And of course, like every werewolf, they will have the scar of their original bite somewhere about their body - the wounds made by a werewolf, be it bite or claw, will always leave a scar that even magic can't remove."

Remus smiled suddenly. "However I wouldn't recommend trying to strip any potential feral naked in order to find it."

The laughter was a relief. The atmosphere in the classroom had weighed down like a lead weight upon them all.

"Professor?" It was Seamus again. "Does that mean you've still got the scar from when _you _were bitten?"

There was a shocked hush. In spite of the intimate revelations of werewolf behaviour in front of the class, Remus had noticed a certain reluctance of the part of his students to address the matter of _his_ lycanthropy directly. Seamus had apparently decided that it was time to cross this final line.

He nodded shortly. "It does. However, since I am not given to stripping my robes off in class, I have no intention of showing it."

Another laugh followed. _Better, better..._

"Sir?" Seamus looked uncomfortable. _Oh no, now what? Where is that bell?_ "It's just, me mam was reading this article in The Prophet. The bloke who wrote it, he said that he reckoned that most folk who became werewolves... well...well, they deserved to get bit 'cos they must have been doing something reckless or dangerous or evil for it to happen in the first place. I ain't saying I believe it!" he added hurriedly. "But it's just... how did you get bitten, Professor Lupin?"

If the class had been hushed before, they were utterly silent now, awed at the audacity of one of their number. Remus was pretty impressed himself. Rising slowly from his perch on the edge of his desk, he circled it slowly, resting his hands against the firm wood once more as he faced out over the most awkward class he had ever taken. Flashes of his dream tortured his mind, playing against his sense, the slap of branches, the glint of the silver moonlight, the drag of claws and teeth against his skin. But how had he come to be there, in the dark woods he assumed were the ones behind his childhood home, all alone, late at night, when only three years old? Why would he have been there? Where were his parents? But in this part of his memory at least, the wall held firm. And even if he could recall, the chances were good that he had been too young to understand.

He stared blankly for a moment. What could he possibly say?

He swallowed hard. "To be quite honest, Seamus," he said softly. "I don't really remember."

Incredulity filled every face. "That's a pretty big thing to forget," he heard Ron mutter under his breath; a moment later he winced sharply as Hermione's foot connected firmly with his ankle.

"_Ron!_" she hissed.

In spite of himself, Remus smiled at their antics. "I was just a child at the time," he explained gently to the rows of curious faces. "Only three years old. I remember getting bitten..." He winced at the still fresh sensations of the dream – his side twinged sharply and he rubbed it absent-mindedly. "But I don't remember how it happened. I don't know about reckless or dangerous..." He forced himself to smile. "But I would have been a very precocious toddler to be doing anything evil."

They laughed once more. That was something.

And then, oh yes, at long, tortuous last, the bell echoed through the classroom. Remus felt himself breath a huge sigh of relief.

"Good lesson, everyone," he lied pleasantly as they packed away their quills and books in a bustle of motion. "Ten points each to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Homework – well, never mind homework. I'll let you off today."

A cheer arose from the ranks of hurriedly departing children. In moments they were gone, leaving nothing but an echo of chatter and a very confused and shaken professor in their wake.

**A/N**: My idea for the nature of the feral werewolf arose from reading many fanfics in which Remus has acquired what I tend to call FWP – Funky Werewolf Powers. Although I have no particular objection to the idea of werewolves having stronger senses etc in their human form, it is not something I can read from or see happening in canon. The impression I get from reading the books and listening to JKR's interviews is that lycanthropy is akin to a disease or disability and I can't see it being of any advantage to the human side of the werewolf if that is the case. So the feral is kind of my compromise – it is possible for a werewolf to be stronger, faster and have keener senses but it comes at the cost of their humanity and their mind.

**Reviewer Responses**:

**Neoma**, **ArwenLumos, MiniMePink, tomato-can **& **TrinityDD**: Glad you are enjoying it and I'm glad you like the humour too. Thank you ever so much for reviewing and stroking my ego! (it's soft and fuzzy you know, so do keep stroking...):)

**Howling Wolf 22**: Yes, indeed, comeuppance for Malfoy is something I greatly want to see in canon. Here I did it my own way. ;)

**trevor-bruttenholm**: That line just came to me during a very strange dream, believe it or not, and I knew it had to be used. It was simply crying out for it! ;) I'm glad you liked the tribute too – I agonised over whether or not it was right, or would be cheesy, so I'm pleased people seem to approve! :)

**abesapien**: Snape does indeed have to be a git, simply because he is so much fun to write that way! He's never been one of my favourites in canon, but writing for Snape, with his glorious brand of sarcasm and bile, really is a strange joy to do...;)

**BlackHorntailJunior**: As I said above, that line came to me in a dream. Shows the odd things that go on in my subconscious! ;) And the dialogue between McGonagall and Lupin was ever so much fun to do. :)

Thank you all very much for reviewing. I know my responses aren't the most exciting in the world but I have terrible trouble thinking of things to say that don't involve repeating myself. But I like to say thanks when you've all been so good as to read and review and in gratitude for the nice ego-bolstering on your parts, I shall keep plugging away at it and endeavour to do better! :)


	7. A Walk in Hogsmeade

**A/N**: This chapter contains my first cliffhanger and some mild violence. Neither could be helped; you know what they say about people getting hurt when they play with sharp objects...-veg-

_7: A Walk in Hogsmeade_

Pulling his cloak tighter against the autumn chill, Remus glanced along Hogsmeade's largest street at the hoards of Hogwarts students laughing and chattering as they darted from Zonko's to Honeydukes, Dervish and Banges to the Three Broomsticks, revelling in this, the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year. The sun was bright against a washed out blue sky, clear but icy cold, the consequence of sunshine in autumn, as hands were rubbed and scarves were tightened against the cruel nip of approaching winter in the air. The odd sharpness of the sunlight lent a strange glint to the melting remains of the early frost that set the thin air sparkling.

The hairy head of Rubeus Hagrid towered head and shoulders above the crowds of children as he headed for the Three Broomsticks with Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey – Remus responded to his wave and hearty hail with a broad smile and a friendly nod. A little further down, clustered together outside Honeydukes exchanging warming Pepper Imps, Harry, Ron and Hermione grinned at him as he blew on his hands and rubbed them fervently. It was definitely time to buy a pair of gloves. With actual wages in his pocket, he could, for once, afford them.

Pulling open the door into Gladrags Wizardwear, Remus almost collided headlong with the emerging Seamus Finnegan. The sixth year boy grinned cheerfully at his teacher.

"Sorry Professor Lupin!" he exclaimed as he hurried out into the cold air. "Didn't see you!"

Flashing him a final smile, he dashed off. But it was too late. The voice alone, the voice that had previously asked a simple question, had been enough. Remus had been reminded.

Curse it. He'd managed not to think about it for almost half-an-hour. This was getting ridiculous.

Remus had dealt with the uncertainty of the circumstances of his bite for almost all of his life. He had grown used to not knowing. The wall in his mind was a part of him, and he understood perfectly his parents' reluctance to talk about what both had referred to – when they thought him out of earshot – as the worst night of their lives. That at some point on a chilly November evening not long into his third year of life, he had found himself in dark woods alone and been set upon by a passing werewolf was something he had reluctantly come to accept. After all, it was not as though he could do anything to change it.

But the vivid horror of his dream combined with the innocently asked questions of a class full of sixteen year olds had lit a fire in his mind such as he had never encountered. He was no longer content to just to acknowledge it had happened; he was not prepared to shrug his shoulders anymore and declare it didn't matter because it was all in the past. His life had been changed forever that night. Surely he had the right to know_ why_.

_That's a pretty big thing to forget. _ Ron Weasley's words. And he had a point. Was his youth really an excuse for such a total blankness? There were several spells that could retrieve a lost or forgotten memory from early childhood – he had experimented with most in his early twenties after his encounter with that rogue Dementor had dredged up the first of his vague recollections. But nothing it seemed could catch the edges of this memory deliberately – he was forced to live with nothing more than glimpses gleaned from dreams. It appeared his mind was not ready to give up its secrets and it made Remus wonder why.

He couldn't help but feel slightly aggrieved that the entire world and its wife seemed determined to keep him in the dark. Albus Dumbledore, Alastor Moody, his parents – now even his own mind was getting in on the act. He still didn't know why but he had a sneaking suspicion that the words "for your own good" would feature in it somewhere. However with the recent passing of his thirty-seventh birthday, Remus liked to feel that he was old enough to decide what was good or not for himself.

A cold chill struck at his heart. His birthday. It had been just over a fortnight ago. That meant this weekend... How could he have forgotten?

Two weeks and three days after his birthday. Tomorrow was the thirty-fourth anniversary of his bite.

So much for forgetting.

Absently rubbing his side, he selected a warm looking, reasonably priced pair of gloves, paid the obliging assistant, pulled them over his chilly fingers and wandered back into the cold of the street. He spotted Harry and his two friends a little way ahead, having moved on from Honeydukes to admiring the bright and feathery display in the window of Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, along with a huddle of Ravenclaw third-years, a plump woman with a basket, and a man wrapped warmly in a long cloak who leaned casually against the glass. On another day, he might have joined them.

Remus sighed. He had suddenly lost his taste for a day in the village. Perhaps he would head back up to the school, make a start on those fourth year essays about defensive hexes that needed to be marked by Monday. Plus he needed to owl his father about getting hold of a Grindylow before the end of next week – his dad's backyard menagerie in the old garden lean-to, once the bane of his tidy mother's existence, did at least have some uses...

There was no warning. And this time there was no Firewhiskey. But in spite of the endemic coldness of the day, there was no mistaking the icy chill that shot the length of his spine with a suddenness that made him gasp, the tingle in his blood, the echo of his heartbeat against his skull and the sharp, vivid pain that laced his scar and stopped him in his tracks.

Remus froze on the spot. What the _hell?_

"Professor? Professor Lupin? Are you all right?"

He turned his head sharply to the left to find three pairs of curious eyes fixed firmly upon him. It was Hermione who had called out to him, forward a few steps now, with her friends, from the cloaked man beyond, as she gazed at him quizzically from beneath a lopsided woolly hat that she had apparently knitted herself. Judging from their looks of concern, the three of them had clearly seen the expression of shock on his face as he had so sharply halted.

Remus immediately rearranged his face into his best reassuring smile. "Just a bit of a chill, Hermione," he lied casually, avoiding their scrutiny as his eyes wandered to the window display behind their heads. "It caught me a bit by surprise, that's all. Probably stepped right into a draft..."

His voice tailed off. His brain had just registered something that his eyes had been screaming at him.

The man in front of the quill shop window. The cloaked man. The man who was no more than six yards away from Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who (had up until now at least)-Lived. He was leaning on the glass, relaxed, at ease, his fingers splayed against it and gently tapping.

A dark, curved claw protruded from every tip. A reflected pair of golden eyes glinted.

Oh. Bloody. Hell.

Whether Kane had seen him, or whether he had coincidentally chosen this moment to strike was never clear. All Remus knew was that even as he went for his wand, roaring at the three teenagers in warning, the feral swivelled lightning-quick on his heels and dove forcefully at Harry's still vulnerable back, teeth bared and clawed hands reaching. His hood whipped back, exposing short, dark, tightly curled hair shot with silver, a solid but well scarred face and an expression of fanatical, determined pleasure.

Which faltered only slightly at the solid thump of book meeting bone. Judging by the weight of the bag she had swung with all her might into Kane's path, it appeared that Hermione had found time to visit the bookshop that morning.

The feral staggered sideways, his momentum shifted only briefly. But it was enough.

Remus had drawn his wand.

"_Impedimenta!_"

The force of the spell flung Kane backwards, lifting him from his feet and hurling him through the fragile pane of the quill shop window. Remus winced in spite of himself at the unintended damage as multi-coloured feathers whirled and danced into the air to the accompaniment of the tinkle and crash of falling glass. His eyes fixed upon the still shocked and bewildered faces of Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"Go!" He ordered sharply. "The Three Broomsticks, now! Get Hagrid and McGonagall! Call the Aurors!" He hoped he did not have to specify _which_ Aurors he meant.

"But..." Ron was stammering as he switched his gaze rapidly back and forth between his teacher and the shattered window. "That was a... That _was a_..."

"_Feral_." Hermione supplied impatiently.

Well at least he'd taught them _something_.

"_Now!_" he repeated forcefully, catching Harry's shoulder and shoving him with rather more force than he'd intended up the street. "_Run!_"

They ran. The word _feral_ had caught alight and was spreading like wildfire along the rest of the street. Shocked faces were staring at the shattered window and the Hogwarts professor advancing on it. Screams were rising behind him.

Remus ignored it all, ignored even the strange sensations running through his body that he was now certain were not connected to Firewhiskey at all, but to the presence of Abraham Kane. The fall through the window had been a nasty one, but ferals were irritatingly tough and the thick cloak he had been draped in would have protected him from the worst of any harm. And the spell to immobilise him would not last long. Any moment now he would...

Kane flipped upright from the debris, casting off his glass-strewn cloak as he balanced precariously for an instant on the window still. His golden eyes fixed on Remus even as the professor raised his wand.

"Well, _well_," he drawled with icy grin, his golden eyes gleaming with an emotion his adversary could not quite place. "If it isn't the _Lupin brat_."

Remus froze with shock. It was not a clever thing to do in the circumstances.

Kane pounced instantly. Remus grunted with shock as he was hurled into the cobblestones, the breath shoved from his body by the force of the impact – it was only through great presence of mind that he managed to keep hold of his wand. The screams around him rose to a shocking crescendo as he caught a glimpse of another figure flung aside as Kane's heels vanished into the dark alley that wound between Scrivenshaft's and the Post Office.

Shoving himself violently to his feet, Remus swore fluently and took a risk. He apparated.

Disorientation caused his head to swim – the alley was darker than he had expected. Grasping his wand firmly in one gloved hand, Remus paused for an instant, allowing his eyes to adjust to the shock of sudden shadow after bright autumn sun, straining his ears for any hint of sound that might imply that Abraham Kane was upon him. The alley was slender, less than the width of his arm span, scattered with bent feathers and discarded paper. He could smell owl droppings.

His eyes focussed, taking in the dark bricks on either side, the rubbish bins, the divergence of the alley ahead as it encountered the rear of a smaller side street. His ears tuned in to the distant chaos of the panicking masses in the street twenty yards behind him. But there were no footsteps. No breathing. No sign of flight.

This _was_ the right alley. So where was Kane?

Remus could feel his spine tingling. Firey eyes seemed to burn against his skull.

This alley was less than an arm span wide. Oh bugger.

He looked _up_.

Braced above him, spayed spread-eagle between the two walls, Kane grinned.

There was no time to dodge. There was no _room_ to dodge. Two booted feet swung solidly into his back; for the second time in as many minutes, Remus was hurled to the ground and this time his grip on his wand faltered, leaving him to watch helplessly as it bounced into the shadows and out of reach. Desperately he clambered into a half-crouch, scrabbling for something, _anything_ he could use as a weapon.

He was far too slow.

Clawed fingers closed around his throat, lifting him off his feet and slamming him against the wall. The twin galleon eyes of Abraham Kane gazed at him up the length of an arm. His smile was a baring of teeth.

"Move and I _squeeze_," he drawled softly.

"Let me go." Remus was quite astonished at how calm his voice sounded, considering he was pinned to the wall by his neck by a vicious killing machine. "Others are coming."

Kane regarded him for a moment. And then he began to chuckle, a low roll of sound that somehow managed to be utterly devoid of humour.

"Oh that was _good_," he exclaimed, savouring each word as though tasting it. "Very convincing. If my hands weren't full, I'd give you a round of _applause_." His clawed fingers teased the skin of Remus' throat in painful little circles. "You _apparated_, boy. I heard it. No one saw where you vanished to. No one knows you're _here_."

Remus ignored the icy chill as the truth of these words sunk in. "What do you want with me?" he gasped, his mind racing as he tried desperately to think of some way, _any_ way that he could get free without Kane tearing his windpipe out.

Kane shrugged easily. "Haven't decided yet. Who says I'm not just in the mood for a little family reunion?"

Remus felt his eyes widen. _What the...?_

"_Family?_" he rasped, trying to ignore the desperate pain in his neck and praying he would live long enough to digest any answers he received. "What do you mean by that?"

It was the turn of Kane to widen his eyes. "Don't you _recognise_ me, boy? Can't you _feel_ it?" He stared for a moment at the blank expression on Remus' face and a wicked light seemed to ignite within his eyes. Laughter spilled from his lips once more, a cold, tangled sound that bounced from wall to wall and skipped away into nothingness. Lowering Remus carefully back down onto his feet, he leaned closer until their faces were mere inches apart; he could smell the older werewolf's putrid breath.

"You don't know who I am, do you?" Kane's voice was barely more than a whisper, a hiss of air against his cheek. "You don't remember and he hasn't told you. It seems that your _dearest _daddy has been keeping secrets from his precious little boy." Kane's smile was mocking. "Doesn't say much for your father-son bond, does it? Perhaps he's not so keen on having a monster for a son as he pretends. Like father, like son it seems."

Remus bit his lip, bracing his back against the wall as he fought not to scream with frustration.

"How do you know my father?" He managed to choke out. "What are you talking about?"

The grip of Kane's claws had not lessened – if anything they tightened slightly. His icy malicious smile had not faded. "How sickeningly like them you behave. Mummy and daddy would be _proud_." He chuckled coldly once more. "But they wouldn't be so proud if they knew what you were _really_ like, would they?"

His eyes gleamed fiercely. "Look at you. All indignant, all defiant, disgusted by the dreadful feral, _Professor _Lupin, the _respectable_ werewolf. What a _waste_."

He spat and shook his head. "But I know better than that face you paint for the world. I _saw_ you, boy, saw you at The Howling." His grin widened at Remus' involuntary gasp. "What have you to say about that? Slumming it, were you? Seeing how the other half live? I've been asking the barman about you. Three times that week, he saw you. Told him you were getting _fond_ of the place. And then suddenly you get your nice cosy job back and you're too good for the likes of us all over again."

Remus didn't speak. There was absolutely nothing he could say. _Oh yes, I was there, but I was spying on you for a secret organisation against Voldemort?_ That would go down a _storm_ to a feral werewolf with his claws dug into his throat...

But Kane had not finished. "Do you really think you can just walk away?" His words vibrated with hidden energy. "You've _tasted_ it before, touched the power. You can deny it all you want, but the wolf is in your soul. I _know_ what kind of werewolf you are. I know what kind of werewolf you _want to be_. Some tamed milksop herding kiddies all day long, Albus Dumbledore's favourite _pet_? I don't think so." His unblinking yellow eyes buried themselves into Remus' stare. "You want to be like _me._ And I can help you with that. Just like I tried to before..."

"There, down _there!_ That's where he went! Behind the Post Office!"

The sudden voice echoed down the narrow alley; Kane's head whipped round, his grip slackening slightly and Remus took the only chance he was ever likely to get. Bracing his back against the wall, he leaned as far back as he could from the feral's grasp and slammed both feet into Kane's stomach, smashing him with all his might into the opposite wall of the alley. Pain tore through his throat as Kane's claws closed instinctively before being violently ripped free; toppling to the floor, he could do little but desperately gasp for breath as blood spurted from the nasty wounds and trickled down his neck, staining his gloved fingers as he grasped the damaged flesh. He heard Kane swear obscenely, saw a mass of shouting figures bundling and crowding into the narrow gap, heard the whistle and whine of spells thrown above him. But the feral was quick – taking to his heels he vanished into the darkness beyond. Thundering footsteps rushed past him, over him; he caught a glimpse amongst others of the bald dark pate and golden earring of Kingsley Shacklebolt and a head of shocking orange that could only have belonged to Nymphadora Tonks as they hurtled down the alley in hot pursuit. If Remus hadn't been in so much pain, he would have smiled. _Good kids_.

An alarming amount of blood was pooling against his cheek, soaking the rough earth scarlet. The alley was starting to swirl. Black sparkles danced eerily in front of his eyes. _Oh, that's not good_...

The pain he could handle – it was no more than he was used to. But breathing was becoming a challenge. And the blood loss...

More footsteps were approaching rapidly; Remus struggled to stay conscious as a dark figure hurried to his side and dropped to its knees beside him.

"_Lumos!_"

The concerned face of Minerva McGonagall appeared suddenly from the darkness. Her stare fixed on the expanding pool of blood and her eyes widened with horror.

"Remus, can you hear me?" she exclaimed. He felt his blood-soaked hand being carefully pried away from his damaged throat; something soft, Minerva's tartan scarf he suspected, was pressed gently but firmly to the wounded flesh in its place.

He tried to speak but found he lacked the strength – no more than a gasp escaped. His eyelids felt as though Hagrid was sitting on them, the light and shadows dancing and twisting eerily as black and silver stars rose like a veil before his sight. He tried to nod instead. It hurt like bloody hell.

"Don't move!" The Deputy Headmistress commanded, a shrill note of alarm in her tone as she supported his head with her free hand. Gods, he must look a sight if the unflappable Minerva was getting so upset. "Hagrid!"

"Professor?" The gamekeeper's West Country lilt drifted from the far end of the alley – of course, Hagrid would be too large to safely manoeuvre in such narrow confines.

"Fetch Poppy from the Three Broomsticks immediately! Remus had been badly hurt!"

"Professor Lupin's hurt?" Harry. _Oh, no. Don't let him come down, don't let him come down, don't let him_...

"Harry Potter! Get back onto that street immediately! We don't know it's safe!"

_Curse it. Too much like James for his own good_.

Harry was no more than a blur, a glint of light against his glasses as he dropped down beside an irate McGonagall. The two gyrating shadows behind him he assumed to be Ron and Hermione. Poppy really did need to hurry up.

Footsteps sounded in the opposite direction – Remus didn't even try to see who was approaching this time. Minerva looked up, now no more than a shadowed outline.

"Did you catch him?"

"Lost him." The weary and alarmingly distant voice belonged to Tonks. "Tricky git. Snuck around the back of Madam Puddifoot's and slipped off into the woods near the Shrieking Shack. Kingsley and a few others followed but..." She sighed. "I found Remus' wand just up there. How's he do... Oh _bugger_."

"Quite."

It was no good. The voices were far away and fading fast, his vision no more than a curtain of black and silver fireworks. His eyelids slipped closed. He knew he was losing consciousness but there was very little he could do about it.

"Professor Lupin?" Harry's voice was a shrill murmur, all but tuned out. "Professor, Tonks, he's..."

"I can _see_ that." Someone, Tonks he assumed since she was the last to have spoken, was violently tapping his cheek. He could barely feel it.

_Sleep. Sleep is good_.

"We got taught healing spells in Auror training. I know what we can..."

What Tonks could, Remus did not find out. The silver gave way to a wave of black that engulfed him utterly and dragged him into nothingness.

**A/N**: This is just a quick observation – I noticed that my update for chapter 6 didn't appear to be listed on the Harry Potter main fic update list from Wednesday. Whether it was just my page, or a universal thing I don't know but just FYI – I am well ahead of myself (in the sense that I am currently writing chapters that number in the twenties) and that unless something horrendous or untoward occurs –touch wood- I should be finished long before I am in danger of catching myself up. Therefore even if you cannot see my update on the FFN Harry Potter main page on a Wednesday and the weekend, it should be there in the archive. If I can't post for any reason, I'll make sure to say so. Check my profile page if you can't find it, or do a search on the list with Remus Lupin as main character – it appeared on that page last time even if it wasn't on the main one. I'm probably fussing over nothing but never mind – better safe than sorry. :)

**Reviewer Responses**:

**MiniMePink** **&** **ArwenLumos**: Thank you for reviewing and glad you still like it! :)

**Abesapien**: I'm glad you liked the lecture. I was worried this chapter might be boring for people but I seem to have got away with it! ;) And I like thanking people – I just seem to end up repeating myself when I do and running out of things to say...

**TrinityDD & Howling Wolf 22:** I'm very glad you both liked the chapter and the feral lecture. And as I said in the note, I am well ahead of myself and shall try to keep posting consistently twice a week. :)

**trevor-bruttenholm**: I have strange dreams, but they do give me a lot of writing ideas. I've never denied that. ;) I'm really pleased you find Remus in character – as I think I've said, one of my fic writing watchwords is keeping in character and to canon as much as I possibly can. And being as fond of Remus as I am, I've speculated a lot about the possible impacts and effects of lycanthropy in Potter-land and most of those ideas I threw into that lecture. :) As for Remus – well I don't think he intended the lesson to get quite as deep as it did but once he was in that far, there was no going back. ;)

**BlackHorntailJunior**: -preens her subconscious- Thank you! And I wanted to give him a hug too. :) As for replies, well as I said, I like to thank people. I just seem to be repeating myself a lot (she repeats!;))and I don't want to bore you all! ;)

Thank you all very much! Positive comments will be fed to my ego and used to cultivate its ever increasing girth...;)


	8. A Little Time to Heal

**A/N**: If this chapter seems a little uneventful, it is because it is yet another victim of my utter inability to be concise. Chapters 8, 9 and 10 were originally supposed to be one single part but I got carried away yet again and 15 pages to one chapter seemed like overkill. ;)

8: A Little Time to Heal

The first thing Remus heard as he drifted back in the direction of consciousness was the sound of raised voices. The hard ground of the alleyway was gone; as feeling returned to his body, he could feel the familiar crisp softness of sheets he knew too well, a sense of warmth spilled from a crackling fire and the distant, irate tones of an indignant Poppy Pomfrey. The Hospital Wing. He had woken here too many times in his youth to mistake it.

Well, at least he was alive. That was something.

His throat was aching badly, wrapped in a swath of bandage by the feel of it, but it was nothing like the agonising throb of freshly torn flesh that had driven him into unconsciousness in the first place. He risked a deeper breath and found he could. He was sore certainly – though after having one's throat all but ripped out by a raging feral, _that_ was hardly surprising – but there did not appear to have been any permanent damage. A few scars to add to his collection perhaps, but against the backdrop of years of full moon self-abuse, a few more marks against his skin were negligible.

"Absolutely _not!_" The tone of Poppy's voice was immediately familiar – it was the manner she reserved for expelling those who might disturb her patients from her Matronly Domain. "He hasn't regained consciousness yet and I will not have you disturb him!"

Ah yes. Spot on with the tone.

"Madam, a man died in Hogsmeade today." The brisk voice that cut across the air was unfamiliar. "I merely wish to question one of the principle witnesses."

"You've spoken with enough witnesses, Mr Dawlish. A street full of them." Poppy's voice was sharp and steely, a blade waiting to be swung. "And the state he was in when I arrived in that alley, you could have had two bodies on your hands. Leave him be!"

Remus could almost sense as the invisible Mr Dawlish drew himself up in the face of the imposing fury of Poppy Pomfrey. "Mr – sorry, _Professor_ Lupin was, according to all accounts, the first to see the feral and the one who allowed him to escape. _Twice_. He was also alone with him for several minutes before my Auror squads arrived. I _merely_ wish to establish what they were – _ahem_ - discussing..."

He was patronising her. Mr Dawlish, an Auror by the sounds of it, was patronising Poppy Pomfrey. And Aurors were supposed to have good instincts. Oh dear.

The blade swung, cutting off his sentence. "Are you _implying_ something?"

Remus could almost hear Dawlish's mouth snap closed. He could imagine the hawk-like expression on the matron's face. He struggled to suppress the smile that would expose his feigned unconsciousness.

"Because if you _are_ implying something," Poppy was building up momentum rapidly. "I will have you out of this school quicker that you can say _delusional_! I have known that young man in there since he was eleven years old and I can safely say that he hasn't an evil bone in his body! How _dare_ you wander into his sickroom after he risked his life for those children and make such insinuations? At least he did something! He didn't stand on Hogsmeade High Street and send his colleagues into danger whilst he waited in safety! Werewolf or not, he's a better man that _you!_"

Merlin bless Poppy Pomfrey! If she wasn't his parents' age, he might have married her. The smile was getting harder to conceal.

The deep rumble of Kingsley Shacklebolt intervened to restore order – Remus hadn't even realised he was present.

"Dawlish, I think it is fairly obvious from what the children said that Lupin was trying to help. He probably saved Harry Potter's life. And I don't think he's going anywhere. You'll know where to find him when he wakes."

"But..." Dawlish might have been willing to argue the point with Madam Pomfrey but Remus knew that Kingsley was very well respected in Auror circles.

The black man's deep voice was soothing. "If you're so worried, leave one of the juniors – Nymphadora Tonks, say – to keep an eye on him. She can wait until he wakes and conduct an interview. If you need to know any more, well he works here. He shouldn't be a problem to trace."

Dawlish folded in the face of an incandescent Poppy and a reasonable Kingsley. "Very well. Get Tonks up here from Hogsmeade then. But I want a full report!"

"I'll make sure she knows that." Kingsley's voice seemed rather more distant. "Come on, Dawlish. We'd best get back to the Ministry."

Footsteps receded. A moment later, Remus heard the door of the Hospital Wing being firmly closed.

"Good riddance!" he heard Poppy exclaim.

He couldn't resist. "My hero," he said, finally freeing his grin. His voice, always hoarse, was now positively croaky and very sore, but at least it was functional. He opened his eyes, squinting into the sudden light as he heard the rapid staccato approach of Madam Pomfrey's footsteps.

"Oh so you are awake," Poppy's brisk voice was nonetheless fond. "I thought I saw you trying not to smile but I wasn't going to say as much in front of that dreadful man."

Remus started to push himself onto his elbows but was immediately shoved gently but firmly back into his pillows.

"None of that!" Poppy leaned in to take his temperature, peering into his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

Remus pulled a face but opted for honesty. "Tired. A bit shaky. Sore."

"Hardly surprising, after what you've been through. Keep still. I want to take a look at how you're healing."

With careful fingers, she peeled away the layers of bandage, squinting at the exposed skin thoughtfully.

"I think we can leave these off for a bit," she declared finally, touching a fingertip lightly to what remained of his near mortal wounds as she seated herself on the edge of his bed. "You've healed up nicely, just as you always did. There's nothing I can do about the scars of course, but you'll know that." She smiled suddenly. "Honestly, Remus Lupin. I thought we were past the days when I had to patch you up for werewolf scratches."

"This was hardly a scratch." This time Remus ignored her protests as he pulled himself into a sitting position and leaned back against the headboard, propping his pillow against his back. "And unless you count stupidity, they were hardly self-inflicted."

Poppy huffed at his statement but did not comment. A glint of colour caught his eye – glancing to his left he realised that the bed next to his was strewn with cheerful cards, sweet smelling bunches of flowers and brightly wrapped confectionary boxes. "Where did all that come from?"

Poppy smiled. "Get well gifts. They've been arriving all afternoon."

"Who for?"

She gave him an exasperated stare. "For the bed pan. For_ you_, Remus! Who else do you see?"

Remus stared at the bewildering pile. "For me? From who?"

"The _students _of course!" Poppy regarded him with a sudden glint in her eye. "I thought you might have noticed them around by now, young, shorter than average, more trouble than they're worth?"

"_Oh_," Remus smiled with mock thoughtfulness. "I _wondered _about all those adolescents that keep cropping up in my classroom."

Poppy chuckled. "Sarcasm, professor? You must be feeling better."

Remus mustered a look of indignity. "I was merely responding in kind. But seriously Poppy, all that is for me?"

She smiled fondly. "Indeed it is. The students have been very worried about you."

Remus frowned slightly. "How did they know what happened? I wouldn't have expected Harry, Ron and Hermione to gossip."

The matron's expression grew serious. "They didn't. After you passed out, we had to conjure a stretcher to rush you back to Hogwarts down the High Street. Most of them _saw_ you, Remus."

Remus remembered the state he had been in, covered in blood and still bleeding from the neck and imagined the stares of a street full of confused students. He winced. "Oh dear."

"Exactly. You're very popular, you know. Many of them were extremely upset. Hence the sudden outpouring. That reminds me..." She smiled suddenly. "Albus noticed that a number of students, most notably those who take Defence with Harry Potter, seemed remarkably well informed on the nature of ferals. When you're feeling up to it, he'd like a word about your sixth year curriculum."

Remus grinned sheepishly. "I didn't mean to tell them so much. It was a question and answer session on werewolves that rather mutated."

Poppy laughed outright as she got to her feet once more, checking the stuttering light beside his bed. "Why does that not surprise me?"

Remus glanced towards the window, realising for the first time that the sun had gone down and that the Hospital wing was lit by torchlight. "Poppy, what time is it? How long have I been asleep?"

"It's Saturday evening, about seven 'o' clock." Poppy glanced at him thoughtfully at she made her way to the shelves of potion bottles that lined the wall beside her office. "You've been unconscious nearly eight hours. But considering the amount of healing you had to do, that's no real surprise. Even with magical assistance, the body needs time. Here."

She handed him a vial. Remus regarded it warily. "What's this?"

"Blood-Replenishing Potion. You've had two doses whilst you were unconscious. One more should be enough. It should certainly help with the tiredness."

Remus had never been a fan of potions, in spite of his mother's profession. He sometimes suspected that the keenness with which she had dosed him with them in childhood was somewhat to blame. Reluctantly, he unstopped the vial and swallowed the contents.

"Good boy." Remus chose not to point out that far from being a good boy, he was in fact a thirty-seven year old Professor who had only two months before set off two hundred and sixty-three fireworks in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. "Honestly, for someone whose mother used to be our Potions Mistress, you always have been less than keen to take your medicine. Oh, that reminds me!" Poppy retrieved the vial from her patient and beamed. "Your father sends his love. He'll be here to see you first thing tomorrow; he would have come tonight but Albus told him you might not be conscious so it was probably best to wait. He's very anxious to see you though – he was terribly upset when the headmaster told him what happened."

Remus glanced up sharply – memories of a darkened alley and a bewildering conversation filled his mind in a rush. "You called my dad?"

Poppy misinterpreted his expression. "Grown man you may be, Remus, but your father still has the right to be concerned. One of those claws nicked an artery; if Nymphadora Tonks hadn't been so quick with a good first aid spell, it might have been too late. Of _course_ we called Reynard."

Remus bit his lip. So his dad was coming to see him. Even yesterday, he would have been delighted at the news. But the strange and haunting words of Kane were playing in his mind; _it seems that your dearest daddy has been keeping secrets from his precious little boy_... _Perhaps he's not so keen on having a monster for a son as he pretends..._ And although Remus was almost certain that Kane's taunts and jibes were no more than malicious troublemaking, his recent confusion regarding the events of his bite had struck a chord with Kane's mockery about secrets. How had Kane known his name? How did he know his father? And what had he meant when he had called him _family_?

_Can't you feel it_, he had said. And Remus could not deny he had felt _something_, that strange chill, that ache in his blood whenever Kane was near. He wondered for a moment if the feeling had simply been a natural werewolf reaction to the presence of a feral – but then why did no one else at The Howling seem affected that night?

Kane had implied that they had met before. He had recognised him in The Howling and been concerned enough to ask questions about him later. _Why?_

And his _offer_... Remus shivered in spite of himself. Kane couldn't have known just how repugnant that idea would be to his captive; in hindsight, without knowledge of Remus' true intentions, the conclusions he had reached had been quite logical. But why take the trouble to try and turn him feral? Was this some new plan of Voldemort's or was Kane acting alone? Remus wasn't sure which answer he preferred.

But what chilled Remus most had been Kane's implication that he had known of the younger wolf's feral past. _You've tasted it before_, he'd said. But how could he possibly know? In the world, only three people alive knew of his feral incident in 1981 and all three he trusted implicitly to keep his darkest secret; Dumbledore, Moody and his father. Unless it showed physically somehow, in some way that Remus was not aware of, he could only assume that Kane had been guessing, trying to get under his skin with those terrible words. There was no way he could have _known_.

Was there?

The thought disturbed him greatly. Slipping under the covers once more and settling back down against his pillow, Remus listened to the bustle of Poppy Pomfrey at work as he stared blankly at the ceiling and tried to shake the icy feeling in his heart that someone he cared about had been lying to him.

He failed.

**Reviewer Responses**:

**Ija Ijevna: **Thank you very much for your long and flattering review and I'm glad you've found so much to enjoy! My main aim when I write fic is to try and do something a bit different whilst staying as true to canon as I can so I'm pleased you seem to think I'm doing okay. And your English is just fine. :)

**abesapien & trevor-bruttenholm**: See, look? He's fine. :) I can't kill Remus off this early, what would I do for the other twenty-five chapters? I imagine Moody tap-dancing through Diagon Alley in Wellington boots and a tutu wouldn't keep you all entertained for more than an update or too...;) As for Kane – perverse as it sounds, I'm fond of him too, he's a glorious villain to write, and I am giving serious consideration to adapting his character for use in a story I'm writing with hopes to publish. :) As for the questions, which are good questions – just hang tight a few chapters and the answers will begin....

**asdf**: I'm glad you like my background stuff about ferals and wolves because they are all ideas I've knocking around for a while but never had a place to share until now. :) And see, I didn't make you wait that long...

**Neoma, MiniMePink, Kookoomaroo, TrinityDD & Howling Wolf 22**: Bless you all for reviewing and thank you! And don't worry, he's fine see? ;)

**BlackHorntailJunior**: See, not dead! I'm not going to be that evil so early on. ;) As for the cliffhanger – well, there are five cliffhangers in this fic that I personally consider to be evil and you've just had the first one. One down, four to go...;)

Thank you all very much for your reviews! They are all much appreciated and fed to my ravenous ego. :)


	9. Marked

**A/N**: And here we have the second part of Hogwarts very own Hospital Drama. I promise, it is winding in the general direction of getting to the point...;)

_9: Marked_

It soon became clear to Remus that he was not going to get any sleep. After a tray of nourishing food provided by Poppy had been gratefully, if carefully consumed, he had attempted, at her insistence to close his eyes and drop back into torpor. But his mind was far too full of whirling thoughts and tangled emotions to allow the relief of sleep to interfere – after a half-hour's hopeless trying, Remus had given up and plaintively requested a book.

Poppy had not been impressed. But nonetheless, she had generously offered to take a quick trip up to the library to see what she could find. Remus had not concealed his gratitude.

Anything that would keep him from thinking.

He scolded himself sharply. There was no point to this. Until he spoke with his father tomorrow, he could not know whether or not there was any truth to the mockery of Abraham Kane. There was no point in troubling himself with it. None whatsoever. He should stop thinking about it altogether. Shut down his mind. Concentrate on something else. He should. He really should.

Where was Poppy with that book?

A knock at the Infirmary door roused him from his turbulent thoughts – desperately he seized on the distraction. "Yes?"

The rainbow-streaked head of Nymphadora Tonks peered around the corner, smiling to see her friend awake.

"Is it safe to come in?" The young Auror gave a cheeky grin as she stepped inside. "Dawlish said there was a mad harpy in here raving about werewolf rights."

"_Patient_ rights, more like it!" Tonks jumped a good foot in the air as Poppy appeared behind her, clutching a book under one arm as she swept back into her domain. "Mad harpy indeed!" she sniffed, depositing the book on Remus' bedside table with a thump. "The nerve of that man! He'd best pray he's never a patient of mine!"

Remus and Tonks exchanged a grin as they watched the indignant matron set about ruthlessly tidying the werewolf's pile of gifts. The Metamorphmagus glanced around the Hospital Wing with a nostalgic smile.

"Strange being back here again," she declared, depositing herself at the foot of Remus' bed and helping herself to a chocolate. "I must have spent half my education in this room."

"Indeed." Poppy arranged the largest bunch of flowers in a sturdy vase on the tabletop, brushing stray petals from the surface absently. "Aside from Remus himself, I'm not sure I've ever had a more frequent patient!"

"Never mind, Madam Pomfrey." Tonks gave her a broad smile. "I've learned a few first aid spells since then. I don't need you to patch me up any more."

"So I understand." Remus smiled too as he pulled himself into a sitting position once more, ignoring Poppy's tisk of disapproval. "From what Poppy tells me, I owe you my life."

Tonks blushed sharply. "Don't be daft, Remus," she muttered, staring down at the bedspread intensely. "It was just a little spell, all in a day's work for an Auror. Madam Pomfrey was the one who fixed you."

Remus caught her gaze and held it. "Nonetheless, that little spell gave her time to do so," he said sincerely. "Thank you, Tonks."

The young woman waved a dismissive hand, her cheeks still scarlet. "Oh, don't make a fuss. It was nothing, really. Anyway, that's not why I'm here."

Remus smiled. "So why are you here?" He spotted her hand drifting once more in the direction of the chocolate tray. "To eat my chocolates?"

She snatched her hand back at once. "Sorry!"

Remus laughed outright, ignoring the twinge of pain in his throat at the action. "Help yourself. In fact take the box. You've earned it."

The blush had returned. She screwed up her nose slightly. "You sure? I mean, they're yours..."

"Trust me, I've got plenty." Remus gestured to the bed. "Besides, if I tried to eat that mountain alone, I'd end up the size of a dragon. Take it."

Tonks' smile returned; gratefully she picked up the box and popped another sweet inside her mouth. "Thanks, Remus. I haven't had a chance to grab supper yet. Dawlish has had us running back and forth like headless Hippogriffs all afternoon."

The conversation he had overheard earlier that evening returned in a rush "I heard him say earlier that a man had died. Is that true?"

The Metamorphmagus sighed. "Afraid so. A local man. He came running out the Post Office when he heard the window smash and got right in Kane's way when he went for the alley. Slit his throat in one slash, dead before he hit the floor. Poor sod didn't stand a chance."

A figure slumping to the cobbles as Kane dashed away into darkness... Remus felt a sharp stab of guilt. If he hadn't hesitated, if he hadn't been so shocked when Kane had known his name...

Tonks must have guessed his thoughts, or some part of them – a gentle hand rested against his wrist soothingly. "It wasn't your fault, mate. You did everything you could to stop him. The bloke just got in the way."

Remus shook his head and winced at the ache in his neck that resulted. "He... surprised me. I hesitated. I could have stopped him there and then if I'd just..."

"Oi. Enough." Tonks was regarding him sternly. "You've been beaten up enough for one day. You saved Harry. Just remember that."

Remus twisted his lip. "Actually, Hermione..."

"...Responded to your warning. And she only slowed him down. You're the one who spotted the danger. You're the one who hit him with enough force to stop him cold. You're the one who went after him and held him up enough that it was only sheer massed Auror stupidity that meant he got away."

"By getting my throat ripped out." Remus felt obliged to point this out. "There's an important life lesson there for you, Tonks. Never kick a feral in the stomach when he's got his claws sunk in your neck."

Instead of rolling her eyes as he expected, Tonks looked vaguely impressed. "You kicked him?"

Remus sighed. "Bloody stupid of me, really. I thought I could get clear but of course he was quicker than me. It was suicide in all but name."

"Yeah but with due respect, Remus," Tonks offered him the chocolate tray and he took one gratefully, peeling off the orange wrapper. "If you hadn't kicked him, he'd probably just have torn out your windpipe and scarpered anyway, and done the kind of job on it that even Poppy couldn't fix." She grinned. "A real win-win situation you got yourself into."

Remus smiled in spite of himself. "True."

"Anyway," Tonks declared, cheerily depositing the chocolates on the bedspread beside her and reaching into the pocket of her robes to draw out a pad and quill.

"According to his Right-Royal-Pain-In-The-Arsiness Dawlish, I am supposed to interview the dreadful werewolf teacher ruthlessly until he cracks and reveals his involvement with the feral Kane. You up for it?" She asked brightly. "I promise not to hurt you too much if you play nice and confess your terrible misdeeds up front. Honestly, that Dawlish." She shook her head disdainfully. "What a pillock."

Remus felt a cold chill. So much for his distraction.

He did his best to sound casual. "If you want. Though you'll have to bear with me. I'm still a little hoarse."

There was a streak of pure mischief in Tonks' expression. "Course you aren't a little horse. You're a werewolf, mate. You sure you didn't take a blow to the head?"

Remus fought desperately not to smile. "You're a funny woman, _Nymphadora_."

"Hey!" A projectile chocolate bounced off his forehead. "There's no need for that! Come on, let's do this then maybe we can both get some sleep."

And so the interview commenced. Remus had very quickly decided that he would be entirely honest in all but one thing – he excluded all mention of any connection between either himself or his father and Kane. It was not something he wanted on the record until he had had a chance to sort out for himself what it all meant.

"He knew who you were?" Tonks inquired at one point, as he described Kane's appearance in the window. Remus silently cursed himself for his slip of the tongue.

"Hermione had just called me by name and he was well within earshot," he pointed out quickly. "And I'm sure Oldstaff would have briefed him about known Order members."

Tonks pulled a face. "I'm not sure I should put _that_ in my report. You've been in the paper lately though, haven't you? Tell you what, I'll put he said he got your name from there. Save us both some hassle."

Remus smiled with genuine gratitude.

They soon moved on to the events of the alley – Remus found himself waging an internal war as to just how much of what had proved to be an extremely personal conversation he dared reveal. There was almost no part of that exchange of words beyond the first salvo that he was willing to reveal to a Ministry Auror; but to a trusted friend and fellow Order member?

"Look Tonks," he said finally, making sure that Poppy was well out of the way in her office before he spoke. "If I tell you what was said, I'm telling you as an Order member and I want it kept off the record. All right?"

Tonks immediately dropped her pad and quill. She grinned. "Ooops! Clumsy me! Talk quick before I manage to pick them up."

He did not mention his father or any secrets he might have. He did not mention the implied reference to his feral incident. He did not mention that Kane had called him family. But he did mention the offer.

"He tried to _turn_ you?" Tonks was staring at him in stunned disbelief. "_You_, of all people?"

"He saw me at The Howling," Remus admitted. "I don't know why he remembered my face, but he did. And I could hardly tell him I was there on business for the Order of the Phoenix."

"Ouch." Tonks frowned. "But he must have thought you were viable, or he wouldn't have risked it. Do you think Voldemort suggested it? Wants you on his side, maybe? A feral with the memories of a senior Order of the Phoenix member would be pretty valuable to him."

The thought made Remus shudder. That was very true. "I've no idea," he said honestly. "But it's possible. It may be that Kane has told the Death Eaters I was in The Howling for several nights. They know about Sirius. They might believe I've cracked up from the grief and gone in search of my inner wolf."

Tonks sighed. "Do you want me to pass this on to the others?"

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't spread it around. Just tell Dumbledore. Let him decide who to share it with."

"Right." Tonks picked up her writing tools once more. "Back to being an Auror. What do we tell my quill?"

"Say he threatened me. And that he admitted working for Voldemort. It's true after all."

"Right you are." Tonks scribbled for a few moments. "I'll just use my imagination, if you don't mind. There." She passed him the notebook. "How does that sound?"

Remus nodded and passed it back. "Good."

"Great. Now, what was it you were saying earlier about kicking him? I want to hear that bit."

The interview lasted another ten minutes or so before Poppy emerged from her office and scolded Tonks thoroughly for tiring her patient. Since the interview was pretty much over, Tonks gathered her notebook, quill and box of chocolates and much to Remus' surprise, gave him a brief peck on the forehead as she made her escape from Poppy's wrath. He watched her go with a smile.

"Honestly!" Poppy bustled around, tidying away the chocolate wrappers. "After all you've been through today, you should be resting that throat, not talking it to exhaustion. Nymphadora Tonks should have known better. Now settle yourself back down and get some sleep!"

"Ummm..." Remus would have been happy to oblige but there was one small matter that needed to be taken care of first. "Poppy, may I use the bathroom?"

From the look that the matron pinned him with, he might as well have asked if he could dance naked down Diagon Alley leading a conga-line of kappas and hinkypunks whilst playing the tambourine. The curt little nod she finally offered was the most grudging he had ever seen. Before she could change her mind, Remus flung off his bedclothes and moved stiffly but hurriedly towards the bathroom door.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Remus stared into the mirror. His mirror self stared back.

He was glad that the bathroom mirror of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing was not the kind enchanted to talk back. He didn't need to be told how dreadful he looked.

Remus had never been the type to linger in front of mirrors – he had neither the money nor the inclination to be fussy about his appearance. But he couldn't help but note that his hair was threaded with a great deal more silver than it had been the last time he had taken the trouble to regard it with more than a passing glance; his skin was paler and more creased, his features tired and almost gaunt, his eyes hollow. The weight of the years and the monthly strain of thirty-four years of transformations had certainly taken their toll. He was marked by his life in more ways than one.

He had never been an Adonis in the first place, even in his youth – pragmatic as always, he had to admit he had not had a great deal of looks to lose. Sirius had held the honours and the lion's share of female attention in that category, and James' Quidditch athleticism had meant that he too had rarely been lonely. Even Peter had possessed what he had heard referred to as "a kind of chubby cuteness" that certain types of girl seemed to appreciate. But Remus – slight, pale, unremarkable – had tended to keep thoroughly out of the spotlight. When harbouring such a secret as his, drawing attention to himself would not have been a wise idea, so perhaps a certain ordinariness of appearance had all been for the best.

He had dated, a few times. But most of his relationships tended to stall and peter out under the strain of what Sirius had rather mockingly christened "Moony's Eternal Question" when he had explained the problem the year before – at what point in a relationship do you tell a girl that you're a werewolf? At the beginning and risk disdain or worse, widespread exposure? Or later and be branded a liar and deceiver? He had tried both ways and had yet to discover a satisfactory answer. He suspected one didn't exist.

Sirius had kindly pointed out that most people were aware of his condition now anyway, so what did it matter? Remus had acknowledged this but felt obliged to note that he had hardly been beating the ladies away with a stick ever since.

Not that being single bothered him, really. It just might've been nice to have had an alternative.

He was brooding again. He had promised himself he would stop that.

Grimly his eyes were drawn to the five violent streaks of red that burned fitfully against his throat. More scars to add to his collection. Yet more marks of his unusual life. Tenderly he touched a finger to the aching red raw flesh – if this was healed, as Poppy had suggested, how bad had it been at the time? – and shivered at the memory of how he had come by them. Yet in spite of Tonks' assertion that Kane would most likely have killed him anyway, he couldn't help but wonder – what would have happened if the Aurors hadn't come, if he hadn't lashed out and forced Kane into harming him? Having taken such an apparent interest in him, would the feral have spared his life? Or would he now be lying dead beside the local man from Hogsmeade?

He examined the wounds almost clinically – four harsh horizontal streaks along one side of his neck, and one deep, raw gouge across the other, running several inches long where the feral's claws had sliced into him and dragged as he was thrust away. He had been fortunate until now – most of his worst scars had tended to be out of sight beneath his robes or above the hairline – but these were quite spectacularly noticeable. Oh well, it would make a fine talking point for dinner conversation, were he ever to be invited out. _Oh these? I had my throat ripped out by a feral werewolf. Pass the salt, would you?_

His finger touched upon an older twist of scar tissue – Remus hesitated. Ah yes, his old friends, a scattered ring of puncture scars that circled his lower throat just beneath his eye-drawing new injuries, a cluster of four that lingered on the boundary between throat and chest and a single alone towards the back of his neck. His father had told him that they had picked them up during his first full moon with the wolf. He had always managed to conceal them quite well beneath his neckline, unlike their fresher companions. The poor things were quite overshadowed now...

The thought tailed off. Remus stared.

Realisation struck as he looked, really looked, for the first time at one of his oldest collections of scars. How had he not noticed it before?

A ring of five scars around his neck. Too numerous and spaced far too widely to have been caused by the stab of any wolfish paw. But, as recent experience played testament to, exactly right for the grasp of five clawed fingers around a youthful throat.

His finger traced the line of the scars, old and new. His free hand drifted to his left side.

He had implied that they had met before.

No.

Surely not. Not _him._

Someone would have told him.

Wouldn't they?

It would explain a lot. Too much, in fact. Except for _why_.

Remus felt ill. Oh _Merlin_.

It was a good thing his father was coming the next morning. He would have been rather weak to make the trip to his home that would now have been completely unavoidable. Remus had a cold, dark feeling that a great deal more lay beyond the wall in his mind than even he had expected.

Poppy was calling to him. How long he'd been staring into the mirror, Remus was unsure. He knew only one thing now for certain.

Enough was enough. He would be oblivious no longer. He wanted answers.

And one way or another, he was going to get them.

**A/N**: So Remus has finally stumbled onto something that most of my reviewers seem to have spotted already. Bless him, he's probably been tired...;)

**Reviewer Responses**:

**Kookoomaroo**: yes, villains are fun aren't they? ;)

**Howling Wolf 22**: See, he's twigged at last! Not so dense after all...;) And his dad will be along next chapter and deep and meaningfuls will ensue. :)

**TrinityDD, MiniMePink & Arwen Lumos**: There, told you he was alright. If now a little bemused...:)

**trevor-bruttenholm & abesapien** : Names in my story are quite important. Keep an eye on them and you may find clues to what lies ahead. ;) As for being published, well it's still a WIP but if I ever do get the nerve to send it off and get accepted, I can almost guarantee I will post a happy and vaguely hysterical note in my FFN author profile involving much dancing of joy and throwing of streamers since being an author is my life's ambition and if it happens, I suspect I will be a bit pleased and will want to spread it around. :)

Remus is fine and fairly intact, if distinctly confused at the moment! The explanation for Kane's victim I'm sure you've read by now and Dawlish is a suspicious git; it's always fun to have one. ;) And The Chat will be along on Wednesday, but don't expect instant answers – I'll warn in advance that the whole story of past events will not be apparent until the end of chapter 19....;)

**BlackHorntailJunior**: Nah, I need him alive at this point. A ghost just wouldn't be the same...;) Poppy was fun to write – I've always been very fond of her in the books for reasons I'm not even sure of myself! And Reynard Lupin will be along on Wednesday. :)

I would also like to say thank you for giving this story more reviews than I have ever had before! As a show of gratitude....:)

_Light surges across Diagon Alley, illuminating a circle of brightness in the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. From somewhere far away, drifting on the wind a piano strikes up the opening chords of "Let's Face the Music and Dance." _

_There is a rubbery clomp._

_And then, like a phantom out of the wotsit, he emerges, top hat balanced precariously on his head, electric blue eye rolling, pink taffeta tutu carefully arranged and green Wellingtons tapping out in perfect time with the music. Waving his cane, he strikes a pose._

_The conga line of kappas and hinkypunks being led by a rather less than clothed Remus Lupin falls still. The tambourine is silenced._

_In a series of beautifully choreographed moves, Alastor Moody tap-dancing his way through the magical street, swinging on lamppost, darting with agile grace along low windowsills and dangling from signposts. The tune rises to an enthusiastic crescendo._

_Moody pauses at the entrance to Flourish and Blotts. Quietly, he extends his cane horizontally across his chest. And then with a doff of his top hat and a crooked smile, he capers sideways through the entrance._

_There is an awed silence. And then a glorious burst of applause...._

This piece of silliness was brought to you by it being my twenty fifth birthday. Being the wrong end of your twenties will encourage such things....;)


	10. The Dream

**A/N**: And here it is – the long awaited Father-Son Chat...:)

_10: The Dream_

_Pain._

_His throat seared with discomfort but he dared not speak a word – he had no wish for his sobs to be met with yet another harsh backhand. He could see little in the gathering darkness, branches and brambles that scratched his face and arms as they ploughed forward, the last distant glow of sunset fading against the trees to his left. _

_The moon would be rising soon._

_The man – if he was a man, for what man had he ever seen before with claws for fingertips? – had not loosened his grip upon him, one arm bundling him firmly against his chest to still his wriggles, the other hand, with its sharpened ends, digging hard against the soft skin of his neck in an unspoken demand for silence. His breath was a harsh reminder against the top of his head as he surged forwards through the undergrowth, heedless of any damage to himself or the child he carried as he pushed on, on, on, deeper into the woods, casting looks over his shoulder as he ran. Every so often, he laughed._

_He did not like his laugh. He did not like this man._

_He wanted to go home._

_He didn't understand what was happening, why the man had taken him away from his parents and fled with him into this darkening, once loved but now sinister forest on the outskirts of their home. He was confused, terrified, bewildered – he wanted to cry but he had quickly learned that the penalty for tears would be pain. The sun was all but gone now. He wasn't allowed out after dark._

_Why was this happening? Why was he here?_

_The man had shouted at his daddy. He had thrown things. He had cursed. He had smashed his way into the peace of their evening. He had used words that he did not understand._

_Reparation. Retribution. Justice._

_Daddy hadn't liked those words. The man had not liked daddy's answer. He had not liked mummy's blow._

_For it was then the man had snatched him up and dragged him away to this place._

_Suddenly, shockingly he was hurled to the ground. He felt himself gasp at the bruising impact as roots and brambles slapped at his small body, swallowing hard at the pain in his throat as blood trickled from the five puncture wounds left as residue from the man's claws. He had half-scrambled to his feet, when a sharp hand clasped his upper arm and hauled him around to face his kidnapper._

_The man's face was broad, crisscrossed with a pattern of vicious scars, the freshest of which, acquired just minutes before, was staining his cheek with scarlet. His hair was short and tightly curled. His eyes gleamed gold in the gathering night._

_He hated the eyes. The eyes terrified him._

_He whimpered and sniffed as he flinched away. He couldn't help himself._

_The blow rocked him backwards, the harsh grip on his arm all that kept him from tumbling to the floor. Silent tears streamed down his face as he fought not to make a cry. The man snorted with disdain._

"_Pathetic." His voice was an icy rasp. "Just what I'd expect from a brat of Lupin's. A coward just like your father. But you will learn the folly of his hiding and excuses."_

_His other arm was seized as the man all but lifted him off the ground, drawing his face close. His teeth glinted. Behind his head, the last vestiges of sunlight had disappeared._

"_He'll come for you, boy." The man's voice was a whisper, his face all but pressed against his petrified captive's. "But he won't come alone, oh no, because he knows what I'll do to him; he'll call his little Auror friends first. And that will give us time, just enough time to set things to rights and be away. Remus." He shivered at the sound of his name on this man's tongue. "How typical. Christened a victim, just as I was. But as was once done for me, I will make you better than your name. I will see you renamed, reborn. Do you know why?"_

_He shook his head. He was too afraid to do anything more. The man's smile spread – it almost seemed, suddenly, to be a smile of a great many more teeth._

"_Well." The word was expelled in a gravely tone, almost a growl. "Your dearest daddy owes me boy, owes me for a life and a lifetime. And you're my payment." A glint of silver whispered behind the trees, a hint of rising moonshine. The man's lips curled upwards, his golden eyes filled with vindictive bliss as he shifted and writhed with some strange sensation that the child did not understand. His shadowed outline seemed almost contorted, his grip against his arms suddenly odd._

"_You'll go now and my true self will come for you. You'll thank me for this, one day." The words were thrown out in a gasping rush as he threw his head back with a howl of joy. "I'm giving you a gift."_

_The grip released abruptly; he tumbled backwards, slumping to the uneven ground as he stared up, transfixed in horror at the twisting form of his kidnapper._

_The man was changing shape._

_His head was elongating, his body sprouting tufts of fur as his clothes ripped away; he tumbled from his crouch onto all fours, gasping with painful pleasure. Half-changed, half-formed, he lunged suddenly towards the frozen child slumped on the earth before him, thrusting his muzzle-like face at the boy as he spat out a single order._

"_Run."_

_The child's terrified scream echoed through the trees as he obeyed._

_He screamed and could not stop. The pain was unbelievable, like nothing he had ever thought possible, a ripping agony that centred on the savagery of torn skin where the wolf's jaws had ruthlessly clamped down. But it did not stay there. It spread in waves, flowing through his skin and veins like a creeping poison; was it his imagination that he could feel himself being twisted, the very makeup of his body rewritten into some new and mysterious code? And there was more._

_There was a presence._

_What was happening to him?_

_Hands, hands grasping him, people everywhere shouting, a voice calling his name. It sounded so far away, his mind shocked and strangely numb unable to create any response but screaming, more screaming. Something swathed him, a blanket perhaps as he felt himself lifted from the ground, as he caught a glimpse of his father's face, his comforting voice whispering to him as his strong arms engulfed his son. He felt detached, removed from his own being and floating loose as the presence, the something pushed his limbs into a frenzy of contortions and blows, fighting against his father's hold. Why was he fighting? He didn't want to fight! He just wanted to hold on and be held until all the awful horrors of that night went away. But he was no longer in control._

_It was._

_He could feel it, sliding across his mind, vicious, vindictive desire tearing at his consciousness as though seeking to drive itself inside, into the very essence of him. It wanted to claim him. It wanted to be him._

_He didn't want it there! He wanted it out! Get it out, get it out!_

_All sense of time was lost to him – he did not know how long he struggled within and without before the walls appeared, the horrified faces that stared down as he was deposited onto softness, a bed of some kind in a long panelled room that he had never before seen. His father's arms were abruptly gone, the hands that pinned him suddenly unfamiliar. With a last desperate heave he broke to the surface, screaming for his daddy at the top of his voice before being dragged sharply back under. Beyond the wall of unknown, white robed figures he caught a glimpse of his mother, pale and sobbing desperately and his father beside her, repelling the white clothed woman who hovered around him, his clothes soaked with blood, his stance peculiar, his neck scratched and bloody from his son's own unwilling assault. He did not seem to care._

_He was staring at his thrashing son with distressed, horrified repulsion._

_And then suddenly, he was there, forcing aside the white clothed figures as he reached out and touched his wand to the forehead of his struggling son. He was going to fix it. He was going to send the presence away. His daddy knew about things like this. His daddy could fix anything._

_His father's face was pale and set. He spoke a single word._

_"Obliviate."_

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Remus! _Remus!_"

Hands, hands shaking him, still shaking him; he gasped and fought instinctively to free himself from their grasp, eyes tight closed as he pushed back against the grabbing. He was not going to let them! He was not...

"Remus, for goodness sake, _wake up!_"

There was a shocking splash – icy cold water washed across his head to soak his hair and drip and dribble down his face. Gasping with surprise, Remus' eyes flew open and fixed upon the concerned faces of Poppy Pomfrey and...

And his father.

Reynard Lupin was staring down at Remus with a mixture of relief and concern. His silver hair remained thick in spite of the passing of his seventieth year, his face, though more wrinkled, much like his son's. One white-knuckled hand was grasping the cane that had helped him to walk for as long as Remus could remember – not that the length of his memory seemed to mean much now. The other was resting gently but firmly against his son's shoulder. He smiled tentatively.

On the other side of his bed, Poppy was not smiling. An empty water glass, its contents the cause of his abrupt awakening, was clutched in one hand; her other hand was clamped firmly to his forehead. Her lips were pursed sharply but her eyes were filled with worry.

"Remus," she said carefully. "Are you all right?"

A good question, to which the answer was no; he was not sure that he had ever been _less _all right in his life. Images from his dream swirled and contorted, mocking him; Kane's laugh and half-changed face, his father's determined stare as he raised his wand to wipe the memories from his son's mind, and that _presence_, that horrible, horrendous feeling of invasion that he had felt - so he had thought - only once before, but recognised all too well.

1981 was no longer his first and only feral incident.

Kane's knowledge of his feral past suddenly made a great deal more sense. He must have seen his struggles after he...

After he had bitten him.

Abraham Kane had bitten him, just as he'd come to suspect. And more. He had not wandered into the woods, he had been dragged there. He had been dragged there for a reason. But understanding of that reason eluded him. He could remember now what had happened that terrible night. But he had been too young to understand _why_.

He only knew that Kane had blamed his father. That somehow, in some way, he had felt he was settling some kind of score.

And his father had wiped out his memory to hide the truth of it, and kept it a secret for thirty-four years. Whilst his only son lived with and suffered the results.

Oblivious. _Literally._

The wall was gone, collapsed by the weight of his realisation the night before of what must have lain behind it. And he was more confused than ever.

A soft touch made him start – his father, now sitting on the edge of his bed, was staring at him with concern.

"Remus?" he said softly. "Son?"

Poppy was walking away, grasping a damp towel. His face was dry once more. The matron had cleaned him up and he hadn't even noticed. He was even sitting upright.

He stared at his father. His father stared back.

There was a hint of fear in the older man's eyes. A terrible chill rose in Remus' heart. This was his father. His only family. He loved him dearly and believed himself loved in return. And yet his dad had lied to him, kept secrets from him for almost all his life.

His hand drifted to his throat, to scars old and new. Secrets that had almost got him killed. Twice.

Confusion, hurt and anger waged war inside his mind as his entire collection of childhood memories came crashing down. Had it all been a lie? He had lost the purity of his school memories to Wormtail's presence, the knowledge of what he would become a taint on happy times. Now the cherished recollections of his parents had shifted inexorably too. Was every good memory he had in his life destined to be tainted by the discovery of deceit?

Anger was winning the battle as the cold grasp of betrayal ran its fingers through his soul once more; he was too shaken and shocked to deny it. He wanted to know why his life had been ruined before it had really begun, and why his memories were now spoiled. He was owed that much, surely.

"What did you _do_?" he whispered.

Reynard blinked; his eyes narrowed uncertainly at the intensity of his son's stare. "Pardon?"

"_What did you do?_" Remus repeated the question more sharply. His voice was stronger now, and cold – he had not felt this kind of icy rage since that dreadful night in the Shrieking Shack that had ended his last sojourn as a teacher. "What part of that night, _exactly_, didn't you want me to remember?"

His father was staring at him with bewildered confusion. "Remus, what are you talking about? Look, you're not well and you've just a strange turn in your sleep – you were thrashing all over the place! Just lie down and I'll call Madam Pomfrey back..."

"_No!_" The weight and volume of his tone shocked even him. Reynard flinched back as though slapped by the word. Sharp footsteps sounded, approaching rapidly. Poppy had sensed her patient was upset.

He couldn't wait, not now. He was not going back to sleep. He would not take a tonic. He did not need to rest. All he needed was to know just what the _hell_ was going on.

He leaned forward, his voice a harsh hushed murmur for only his father's ears.

"Thirty-four years ago today," he whispered sharply. "That's why I was thrashing in my sleep. Kane. _Obliviate_. I _remember_."

Reynard froze, staring at the son he knew so well, drinking in the narrowed eyes, the quiet rage and the icy aura of betrayed disillusionment. All colour drained from his skin.

"What is going on here?" Poppy's voice penetrated the moment, an unwelcome intrusion. "Remus, you need rest, not..."

"Poppy." Remus cut her off with rapid abruptness, stopping the inevitable words of strict concern before she could hit her stride. "I need a word alone with my father. Do you think you could find something to do elsewhere for a while?"

The matron gaped. "Remus, for goodness sake, you almost died less than a day ago! And if the tone you were taking is any indication, this conversation will only make you more distressed..."

Remus interrupted yet again, his tone clipped and meaningful. He knew deep inside that he was being terribly rude but this was simply too important. "Poppy, the only reason I will be distressed is if I don't get to talk to my father. _Alone_. I'd rather stay here, in the Hospital Wing, where I should be, but if necessary I _will_ take this outside."

The gaze he fixed upon her was both pleading and sincere, but at the same time betrayed a cool determination that even the steely matron could not match. "Please," he said softly. "I need this."

Poppy's expression was both confused and troubled; she glanced at the older man for a second opinion. "Reynard?"

She did not find one. Remus' father said nothing. He was staring blankly at the bedspread, breathing hard as though he'd run a mile. He was almost as pale as his son.

The Hogwarts matron was clearly not happy. But nonetheless, she could not match the stubborn resolution of her patient and sighed. "Very well, I'll be in my office. But no exerting yourself!"

Remus waited until he heard the door to Poppy's office pull shut before turning to face his father once more. He had demanded this talk – but now he could not find the words to say. He simply stared, stared at a man he'd thought he'd known better than any other, a man he had loved more than anyone but his much missed late mother and tried to suppress the ice around his heart that whispered he was staring at a stranger. He desperately wanted there to be an excuse, a reason, something that would make everything all right again between them, but he dared not hope for such a miracle. His hopes had been dashed on such matters too many times in the past.

He simply looked at him instead. Reynard's eyes had lifted to stare at his son, brimful with a cauldron's worth of fear, regret and weariness; a lifetime of secret keeping weighed heavy on the mind, it seemed. And he looked _old_. Rey Lupin had never looked old until the last few years, even when the last trace of brown had faded from his hair; not until the day his wife had died, a stupid fall from a window in a Parisian hotel, attending a conference in France to spread the word about her finally successful Wolfsbane Potion. That awful day, watching the coffin of the woman who had been his life for more than forty years vanish beneath the earth forever, he had suddenly appeared his true age. Now, sitting on the hospital bed of his angry son, he seemed yet even older.

Two sets of eyes met. Both frowned. Neither spoke.

It was Reynard who broke the silence.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. "I never meant you to find out like this."

Remus frowned, irritated by the platitude even if sincerely meant. "Forgive me, but I'm fairly sure you never meant me to find out at all."

Reynard could not hold his gaze against such a fierce stare; his eyes dropped once more. "That's sort of true," he admitted softly. "But it was..."

"For my own good?" That phrase. He'd been expecting it. It fuelled the icy fire inside his chest.

Reynard looked up sharply, his expression one of vague offence. "_Necessary_," he finished firmly. "You were _too young_, Remus. How could you understand..."

"I'm older now. _Help_ me understand."

Reynard shook his head abruptly, a hint of anger of his own creeping into his eyes. "That wasn't what I was going to say either. Do you want to know the truth or would you like to keep interrupting?"

"Don't talk to me like I'm _five_, dad!" Remus did not appreciate being reprimanded, snapping almost before he could think better of it.

"Then don't _behave_ like it!" Reynard shot the response back instantly, raising his hands sharply to cut off his son's indignant response. "I know you're confused and angry and upset. You've just had a horrendous dream and it's shaken you. But please, _calm down_. Bawling at each other will get us nowhere." He took a deep breath. "I hope you can appreciate that I'm more than a little shaken myself. It's not every day a man gets a call from the Headmaster of Hogwarts telling him his son has almost been killed by the very same creature that..." He bit his lip as he fought to calm his rapid breathing. His eyes met his son's over-brimming with a kind of tortured relief.

"You're all I've got Remus and I love you very much. You've near enough scared the life out of me these last two days, all but bleeding to death yesterday, having fits in front of me this morning. I don't think either of us are willing or able to make this a shouting match. You wanted to talk. So we _talk_. What do you want to know?"

Fighting the fire inside, Remus forced himself to regain control his anger. He felt suddenly ashamed; he had not considered the worry he had put his father through, bad enough in any light, but terrible to one who had knowledge of his history of Kane. Suddenly Moody removing him from the mission was making a great deal more sense.

And much as he hated to admit it, his dad was right; the memory of the dream - or the dream of the memory perhaps – had left him shivery and uncertain, shaking him from his usual composure and causing him to snap and snipe at his father like an irritable schoolboy. Enough was enough. This was no way to behave. He wanted to talk. Fine. It was time to get to the point.

"You memory charmed me." He forced calmness into his voice, but could not keep out the cold. "In St Mungo's. I was in pain and all you could do was memory charm me." A plea crept into his frosty tone in spite of itself. "What was so important that that you couldn't even wait until I'd stopped screaming to wipe out?"

Reynard was shaking his head before his son had even finished his sentence. "It wasn't like that, not at all." He sighed again. "Remus, how much do you really remember?"

"Everything."

"That's not helpful." The older man retorted at once. "Your everything may not be the same as mine. I assume you know who bit you?"

"Kane."

"Yes. And that he took you?"

"Yes."

Each curt, one-word answer seemed to cut at Reynard like a knife. Nevertheless, he ploughed on. "Do you remember him appearing into our house? All the words he said? The confrontation I had with him?"

Remus hesitated, wading through a morass of foggy memories and found only a few vague images. Perhaps the wall, the wall he now knew to be his father's Dementor damaged Obliviate spell, had been a little sturdier in places than he'd thought.

"Sort of," he admitted. Oddly enough, his father's familiar practicality was calming him, in spite of the situation; he barely paused a moment before clarifying. "Not really. I can see him standing there shouting at you but I don't remember what was said. And I think I remember being pushed behind a chair by mum."

His father twisted his lips thoughtfully. "I doubt it would have meant much to you anyway. Abraham Kane and I – it's a complicated business in more ways than one."

He stared absently at the ceiling, fingering his cane. "I got this gammy leg beating him off from you," he muttered softly. "Damn fine shot with those claws of his. Marked the pair of us didn't he? Killed us financially too – I had to take a desk job, your mother gave up most of her contracts to look for a cure for you... Oh yes. He got his revenge very nicely in that respect." He met his son's eyes once more. Remus was astonished to see a hint of tears. "But he didn't _win_, Remus. He thought we'd hate you, you see. He thought he would ruin our family. But we didn't let it happen; if anything, it made our bonds stronger. We didn't stop loving each other. That would have been his _true _revenge."

Remus stared at his father. The anger had drained away, lost behind the flood of poignant memories. Whatever happened, whatever was about to be revealed, his father was right; whatever had occurred that night, it would not change the years that had followed. But still, he needed to understand once and for all. It was the only way that they could both come to terms.

"Revenge for what? Dad, _please_."

Reynard regarded his only child. "Did he say anything to you? Do you remember?"

The words of the dream-memory replayed themselves in Remus' mind. "He called you a coward," he replied, his voice low. "He said that you owed him for a life and a lifetime."

His father smiled, a humourless smile of bitter regret. "In a way, he's right. I didn't start this, Remus. To be honest, neither did he. It was forced onto both of us until it spiralled both our lives out of control. And then he went and dragged you in too. I know I made bad choices, but at the time they seemed the right ones – I had no way to know where it would lead. I think about it, even now and still it makes no sense."

"Then tell me about it." Remus sat forward, resting one hand beside his father's on the bedspread. "It might make more sense if you talk it over."

"I wouldn't know where to start."

"The beginning usually works."

Reynard gave another bitter smile, this time tinged with ruefulness. "I'm not sure where that is anymore. My beginning, his beginning and he had more than one. It's all confused. And a long story."

Remus managed a smile, gesturing to the empty Hospital Wing and his injuries. "I seem to have time. I certainly haven't much else to do."

Reynard sighed, reaching over cautiously. When Remus offered no protest, he laid one hand over his son's. "All right – I'll try. I'll do my best. But you'll have to bear with me. As I said – it's hard to know where to start."

Remus nodded quietly. "Just tell me. Give me a reason to believe that what you did really was... _necessary_."

Reynard nodded, gently squeezing the hand he held. "It was. Truly. Well. I suppose I'd better begin somewhere..."

**A/N**: Thoughts? :)

**Reviewer Responses**:

Thank you all for the birthday good wishes! :) :) :) :)

**FlyingPhilosopher**: Thank you very much! :D I don't really know how I think these things up, they just sort of appear...:)

**BlackHorntailJunior**: I am sorry about that little interlude – it was a moment of insanity that wouldn't leave me alone...;) And here is Reynard! You'll be seeing a lot more of him for the next few chapters...:)

**trevor-bruttenholm**: Glad you liked my little moment of madness there! ;) Regarding Tonks and Remus as a possible couple – I'm not planning to include a romance in this fic, firstly because I have so much else to focus on plot-wise and secondly because I'm really not very good at writing romance that isn't either cheesy or awful –it's my Achilles heel as a writer, alas. But that particular ship is one I have grown quite fond of after reading several good fics that include it and I have found in the writing that Remus and Tonks two have struck up a fun rapport so feel free to read in any undertones as you see fit! :)

**Howling Wolf 22**: I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations! And sorry I scared you....:)

**centaur219**: Thank you very much indeed! And see, I have updated! :)

**Zymurgy**: Thanks for reviewing! Regarding the scars – it simply didn't cross Remus' mind until now that they could have occurred by any hand – or paw – than his own because they were werewolf scars and until now, ferals had not been something he had considered as a source, if that makes sense. So he didn't think that they could be finger/claw-marks until he compared them to the wounds from Kane. I suspect that explanation is garbled in the extreme but never mind, I tried...:)

**Neoma**: I liked that line too. It was one of my silly streak lines – they slip out every so often from goodness knows where...;)

**ArwenLumos**: I do apologise! I had no idea my interlude was so traumatic! ;)

**Ija Ijeyna**: Well spotted! Yes, the use of Reynard was deliberate in regards to it meaning fox – I try for names with hidden meaning and I liked the idea of a kind of canine theme...;)

**PinkMonkeyPirate, Megan, the ever-lovable snuffles & TrinityDD**: Thank you all very much! And Remus is safe for the time being...;)

**abesapien**: Moody was scary, wasn't he? See, I told you it wouldn't keep you all entertained for long! ;) Tonks is fun and I enjoy writing her very much – hence, you'll see her again later. I explained about possible Tonks-Remus in my answer to trevor-bruttenholm – in summary, I'm not overtly planning it but I like the ship so feel free to read anything in that you chose! :) And I'm sorry – I'm new to this latter half of twenties business...;)

Thank you all very much indeed! Reviews make me ridiculously happy and cheerful and may prevent a return of scary dancing Moody...;)


	11. Part Two: The Bite A Challenging Case

**A/N: **Phew! wipes brow Made it to Part Two! Ladies and Gentlemen, you are now entering _The Flashback Zone_...;)

I'd also like to apologise wholeheartedly to MiniMePink who I realised I'd left off my responses moments after I posted chapter 10. Sorry about that....:(

**Part Two: The Bite**

_11: A Challenging Case_

**Derbyshire, Early November, 1962.**

This was certainly proving to be a challenging case.

Reynard Lupin rubbed his hands together sharply, blowing against his chilled fingers to ward off the encroaching cold. Darkness was creeping in fitful shadows across the battered ruins of the deserted farm that the joint operation between the Auror division of Magical Law Enforcement and the Werewolf Capture Unit attached to the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures department had chosen as their base of operations.

Rey belonged to neither. The best title to fit his role in this, he supposed, was some manner of attaché; the representative sent, as always in such cases, by the Head of his division of the Magical Creatures department because he did not appreciate the idea of going out into the dangerous cold himself. And representation was needed. The Werewolf Capture Unit were a fine body of strong, quick, hunting men capable of delivering the kind of speed and violence necessary to bring down a rampaging beast immune to magic – but they really hadn't half a brain between them. That was what Rey was for.

He was proud to be widely regarded as one of the best in the business. There were very few creatures in the magical world that he was not capable of dealing with – from simple Boggart removal to rogue Griffin capture, Reynard Lupin could be relied upon to get results. He had even begun to collect some of the finer specimens, much to the horror of his wife and fascinated delight of his young son, storing them in the old lean-to at the side of his mercifully remote cottage home in order to study their behaviour.

He learned enough in that time to consider writing a book someday, if he were ever to find the time. He wondered sometimes if the time should be found sooner rather than later. His job was often exciting but at times the basic work could become almost routine – banishing Boggarts, digging out Red Caps, caging pixies. More often than he liked, he found himself almost wistfully wishing for something a little more interesting.

But this case was something different. A real challenge.

Feral werewolves. Two of them.

Rey did not often deal with werewolves. His intense dislike of them was well known enough that most werewolf capture liaison cases tended to be deliberately and quietly diverted to a colleague by his boss. It was not as though there was a great deal to do on werewolf cases – the Werewolf Capture Unit did the grunt work after all – and so Rey had not minded greatly. But a recent flurry of utterly routine Grindylow nettings and Bundimun scrapings had left him almost in despair; so when a request was routed through for an experienced attaché for this joint operation to bring down the pair of ferals whose exploits had been splashed all over the news, Rey had jumped at it.

His boss had not approved. Ares Rowen, head of the Extermination and Pest Control Divisions of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was an old friend of his father; a stern and crusty old sod that had in his day been as respected an operative as Rey was. He had summoned him into his office as soon as the request had reached his desk and suggested quietly that, given his _history_ with werewolves, it was, perhaps, not such a good idea.

"It's not that I don't think you can do this," he had intoned in his gravely tones, regarding Rey cautiously over the rim of his glasses. "Indeed, with Stebbins off sick with that Malaclaw bite, Lanark chasing that loose mountain troll in Scotland, and Riever on his holidays, you are the most experienced liaison I can send, apart from going myself of course."

Rey had pictured the rotund, grey-haired, bespectacled form of Ares Rowen out in the field chasing ferals through wood and mire and bit back a smile that would not have done any favours for his career. Ares had been the best in his youth after all and he should not mock him, even silently. Someday he might be the one trapped behind a desk by injury or girth.

"But Reynard; you and werewolves." Ares was shaking his head. "Given what happened with your sister and that Isaacs fellow... I don't think it would be... wise."

In spite of himself, Reynard had fought a surge of rage at the mention of _that_ name. He controlled it carefully. "Ares, really, I appreciate your concerns. But I'm thirty-seven years old now, not some angry teenager. I'm a professional. I will not let personal concerns interfere with my work. I can do this case. Please."

Ares had sighed, deeply. "Rafe Lupin was one of my oldest and dearest friends," he said softly. "I'd feel like a traitor if I didn't watch out for his son."

Reynard had nodded. "I know. And I'm grateful. But I don't need protecting. I can look after myself."

Ares had stared at him for a long moment. Then he handed him the case file.

"Buxton, Derbyshire," he informed him reluctantly. "The ferals are known as Abraham and Hel Kane. You'll be liasing with Rudolf Bolt of the WCU and that Auror chap Alastor Moody."

And so here he was, deep in darkest Derbyshire, awaiting the impending reports on the current location of the two loose ferals so that he could do the necessary liasing and make a plan of action. He had been surprised when Moody had shown him the official permission he had been handed – permission for mission members to use Unforgivable curses in the capture or execution of their prey. But then with all the publicity in the Prophet about the antics of these two, the so-called "reign of terror" they had invoked, perhaps it was not so unexpected after all.

Bolt had long since vanished inside for a meal and a good smoke – about all he was good for apart from being told where to point his weapons to be honest. Alastor Moody on the other hand, was lurking a few yards to Rey's left, staring at the sky and the heavily waxing moon with a distinct edge of distaste.

Rey had known Moody for six years now, his partner on several other joint operations between their departments in the past. A year or two his senior, the Auror was a grizzled, well scarred but practical man who, like Rey, had a reputation for getting the job done. In spite of his gruff demeanour, Rey liked his straightforward approach to his work.

"I didn't think they'd send you, you know." Alastor's dark eyes were still fixed on the moon as he spoke, leaning casually against the side of a battered barn. "When I asked Rowen for you a year or so back, during that business with that half-feral nutter in Surrey, he told me you didn't work werewolf cases. Said you had personal reasons." He grinned. "It was a pleasant surprise when you apparated in. I was expecting that useless fool Stebbins."

Rey shrugged, following the Auror's gaze to glance at the starry sky overhead and a moon too close to full. "He never told me you'd asked. I only found out about this case by chance. I do have personal reasons not to like werewolves but I certainly won't let them interfere with my work."

"Have a bad run in, did you?" Moody inquired.

Rey gritted his teeth. "No. But I don't want to talk about it."

It was Moody's turn to shrug. "Fair enough. How's Diana and the little one?"

Reynard grinned in spite of himself. Here was a subject he would willingly discuss. "Not so little these days. He had his third birthday just two weeks ago. Diana and I took him up to visit his Grandpa John on the farm. He kept chasing the sheepdogs and asking where the Puffskeins were."

Moody chuckled. "It hardly seems yesterday that you were showing him off as a pink little bundle in the Ministry Offices. I swear I've never seen a grin that wide before or since. You looked like you'd pinned your lips to your ears."

It was Rey's turn to laugh. "Do you blame me? For more than ten years we tried every which way to have a child of our own. We'd all but given up hope when Remus came along. He's our miracle."

The Auror smiled, the expression odd on his grizzled face. "I was glad for you – still am. Can't think of a couple who deserved it more. I have to say though – it surprised me after so long trying without success that you didn't give up and adopt."

Guilty memories flooded Rey's mind – determinedly he bit them back. No. He was not going to think about the boy again. He had made the choice and that was the end of it.

"We thought about it," he admitted softly. "Almost did in fact. But we – well, I – changed my mind. It just wouldn't have been the same. And now I'm glad we waited. Remus is a dream come true."

Abruptly, Moody stretched, hauling himself upright. "Getting nippy out here," he commented. "Might head in and grab a bite to eat." He paused, patting his friend on the shoulder. "It's good to have you on the team, Rey. But if you do have any werewolf issues, clear them out your head right now. We can't have them in the way in the field."

With that, Alastor strode away, disappearing into the pool of light spilling from the farmhouse kitchen. Rey watched him go with a sigh.

Werewolf issues. In spite of his pureblood heritage and his own father Rafe's well-noted dislike for half-breeds, he had not had any werewolf issues until he had met Adam Isaacs.

The worst part was that he had liked him. He had been a quiet man, given to moodiness at times and with a tendency towards the morose but he had not been – had not _seemed_ – a bad man and Rhea had adored him, which had been a big plus to his cause. Rhea, his big sister, forthright, lively and idealistic, a relentless champion of causes, mostly those their father despised. Rhea and his father - they had been so similar and so different all at once, cut of the same cloth in character but with very different ideas about the world; their clashes had, at times, been spectacular.

Rafe was not a cruel man or an evil one – he had been supporting Dumbledore against the rise of Grindelwald for some time – but he was very much the old fashioned pureblood and had very definite views. And Rhea was a wild child, a rebellion waiting to happen in the uncertain days of the Muggle war with Germany and wizarding war against Grindelwald. Reynard had always taken more after their quieter mother – keeping his head down and letting his relatives slog their problems out unhindered. But he had loved Rhea dearly, admired her fighting spirit and respected her views.

Her latest mission had been werewolf rights. There was much talk in the Ministry at the time of creating a Register of Werewolves in Britain; Newt Scamander had suggested it and even begun a study to examine its feasibility. Her father was a staunch supporter of the idea but Rhea had been appalled. Fresh out of Hogwarts, being pushed towards a Ministry job and a nice pureblood husband by her father, she had abandoned his hopes and dreams and set out to make her own.

She took the Ministry job; but only in the hope of gaining independence from her reliance on their father's money, although she had promised both Reynard and little Rolphe, their younger brother, that she would not leave them. Every free moment she could spare she spent on her campaign, drafting her brothers in to help whenever they were home from Hogwarts. And then she had met Isaacs.

Rey had not known he was a werewolf at the time. It was only later he had discovered just why it was that his father had so despised this apparently harmless man. He had met him only twice, secretly, once over the summer and again, at Christmas during his fifth year, smiling to see his sister's happiness as she clung to Adam's – _Isaacs'_ – arm. He had returned to Hogwarts as usual in January and settled back to await the usual flood of his sister's chirpy correspondence.

Nothing came.

It was not until he went home for the summer that he was told that she had gone.

She had eloped with Isaacs just after he had returned to school.

Rolphe had never recovered from this apparent abandonment by the sister he had idolised; turning to his father for support, he became the model son that Reynard had somehow never managed to be. It was he who made the pureblood marriage, took on the respectable career – it had come as no surprise to Rey, on his father's death seven years before, that all but a pittance of the family estate and fortune had gone to his brother's _perfect_ family. Rey's lone rebellion in his life – his insistence upon marriage to Muggle-born Diana Griffith, daughter of an ordinary Welsh farmer – had never quite been forgiven. He tried, for many years, to regain his father's good graces, even to the point of... But he had decided not to dwell on that. And though the rift had thinned over the years, he had never _quite _succeeded.

But Rhea had vanished. And then there was nothing. No more campaign, no letters to her brothers, nothing. Nothing until she showed up in St Mungo's two months later...

Gods, he still had nightmares about that awful day – he was only grateful that his father had insisted on keeping Rolphe and his mother away. Even Rey was to have been excluded had he not happened to forgo the pre-school shopping trip to Diagon Alley that year and stay at home.

He had been at home that morning when the owl arrived. He had watched as his father's face turned white as a corpse's pallor, watched him dash from the room and apparate into nothingness without a glance or word of explanation to his son. For hours Rey had waited, wondered, torn between going in search of his mother, or awaiting his father's return. Finally, as he had stood poised before the fireplace, floo powder in his hand and the name of the Leaky Cauldron on his lips, yet another owl had swooped into the open window and dropped a letter into his hands.

The terse missive was written in his father's scrawling hand. It told him that his sister was in St Mungo's. He, Rolphe and their mother were to wait at home until he called.

Rey had seriously considered obeying. Briefly.

Then he had deposited the note on the prominent table in the main hall, and still grasping his handful of floo powder, hurled in into the flames.

He had not needed to ask the Welcome Witch where to find his sister. He could hear her screams all the way from reception.

For a confused moment, he had wondered if he had been mistaken when he followed the terrible sounds of his sister's agony to a maternity ward. A glance inside explained everything.

His sister was in labour. And it was not going well.

And she was screaming. But this was not the pure effort of childbirth – over and over again, his sister was screaming her plight. He had tricked her into leaving. He had held her against her will. He had forced himself upon her. She did not want his child. She had just wanted to go home. She hated him. She hated Adam Isaacs.

Over and over again. Those same words.

And then his father, looking hagged and anxious in the corner of the room, had glanced into the doorway and seen him.

He had been all but hurled from the room. The porter was browbeaten into escorting him back to the fireplace and ensuring that he was well and truly gone.

And so he had waited.

His mother came home soon after, all alone; by blessed chance, Rolphe had encountered a friend in Diagon Alley and had been invited to stay the night. He had reluctantly told her of what he had seen and instantly regretted it as he comforted her intense burst of weeping until the evening when the fireplace glowed. His father had stepped out of the ominous green flare, his skin pale, his shoulders tense and his usually immaculate hair dishevelled. His eyes were haunted.

Rey had known then his sister was dead.

The labour had been difficult. The stress had been too much. Both mother and child had been lost, his father said. And Isaacs was at large.

His sister was gone. His impulsive, vivacious sister had been stripped of her verve, her dignity and her life. That _werewolf_ had tricked her, deceived her, killed her spirit and taken advantage for his own ends. And now she was dead.

And it was all _his _fault. _Isaacs._

If Adam Isaacs hadn't killed himself before Rey had found him, he would have happily done the job on his sister's behalf.

Werewolf issues indeed.

"Mr Lupin! _Mr Lupin!_"

Rey started violently – lost in the thoughts of his past, he had not seen the swooping broomstick of one of the Auror scouts drop sharply into the yard in front of him.

"Sir, we've found them! The ferals, they're less than a mile from here!"

Reynard's brain snapped into focus. "Send a message to the other scouts; tell them to keep the ferals in sight but don't let them see you if you can help it and certainly don't approach. Then join Mr Moody and me in the farmhouse with every scrap of information you have about their location. Understand?"

The man nodded eagerly but Rey had barely noticed, his professionalism clamping down over his feelings as he turned on his heel and rushed towards the farmhouse. This challenging case was coming to a head and this time there would be no mistakes.

They would bring the ferals down.

It was time.

**A/N**: This flashback section is what I originally envisioned this fic as – a few chapters from Reynard Lupin's perspective about how his son came to be bitten by Abraham Kane. There are a large number of Remus bite fics around but most I've noticed tend to have the bite as an accident. I must admit it's always struck me as a little odd, the thought of a very young boy (in the words of JKR) out after dark probably all alone on a full moon to get bitten in the first place – what were his parents thinking of? One theory I haven't seen is that there may have been something more sinister about it and from this thought, a fic idea was born. But I wasn't overly keen to write the entire fic from an OC perspective and I was _very_ keen to write for adult Remus g since he is probably my favourite character anywhere in literature, bless him. :) So I added a chapter either side of Remus asking his father what happened. But then I thought – what if he didn't just ask out of the blue? What if he asked because he had met Kane? In the original plan, Kane was killed after biting Remus, but that conclusion to the flashback had to go for the new plot to work. And that left matters a little too unresolved for my liking, so I thought it through and took a few other random ideas that I had but had never been able to work into a plot before, twisted them together, book-ended the flashback with a substantial Remus-centred plot and out came Oblivious. :) But this section ahead, with a few additions and adaptations, is the core idea I had for this fic in the first place. Enjoy. :)

**Reviewer responses**:

**Ija Ijeyna**: Interesting ideas on which I shall not comment either way. Just keep reading...;)

**centaur219, MiniMePink & TrinityDD**: Thank you all very much! :)

**trevor-bruttenholm**: Hug them both. Trust me, they both need it. ;) Romance – maybe, someday, but for now I'm playing safe. And the explanation, as you can see, is coming in a more direct form which I hope works for you. :)

**Howling Wolf 22**: You'll find out what happened as the next few flashback chapters unroll. :) And yes, Remus is thinking pretty much that...;)

**ArwenLumos**: As I said, all will become clear as the flashback chapters proceed. And you'll have to be patient; I have first dibs on Remus...;)

**BlackHorntailJunior**: Indeed, complicated is a good description. And I'm glad you like Rey, because as you can see, he will be fairly prominent for the next eight chapters. :)

**PinkMonkeyPirate**: I'm saying nothing regarding the fate of Remus in this fic. Safe to say though, that despite him being my favourite character, he has and will be getting quite a battering in this story, poor darling...

**abesapien**: I've always assumed that the reason Remus says to Harry in POA that he is no expert at fighting dementors is that he has memories as bad if not worse that Harry's lurking about in his past. Being bitten by a werewolf, the monthly horror of the transformations, losing all his friends – it's amazing he's not a gibbering wreck really and a tribute to his strength of character. You can chose to be a feral, but it can also happen in moments of extreme emotional distress or anger when the inner wolf capitalises on the weakness of its human host. Hence 1981 and getting bitten for Remus. Rey's motives will become clearer later. And I feel sorry for Rey and Remus too – I've recently begun to regret killing off his mother, since they really do only have each other. And as you have seen from this chapter, Remus isn't the last of the Lupins, since Rey's estranged brother has a family, but given that Rolphe is a bit of a snob and has the same werewolf issues as Rey mentions above, the two branches of Lupins have never reconciled. The love story thing – maybe I'll try it someday. But not today. ;) And Hairy Moody? –shudders- :)

Thank you all very much! :)


	12. The Chase

_12: The Chase_

"Hell's teeth!" Moody's quiet exclamation in accompaniment to the now-too familiar thwack of bramble against skin made Rey grin in spite of himself. "They couldn't have holed up in a nice suburb somewhere?"

"We should probably be thankful they didn't." The low voice that responded from Moody's other side belonged to Orestes Bevan, a tall, irritatingly good-looking young Auror in his late twenties with whom Rey had often worked before; the two fathers had spent several enjoyable hours in the farmhouse exchanging toddler horror stories earlier in the evening. His startlingly blond hair was dishevelled now, and a large scratch across his face implied that in spite of his words, he was not enjoying the terrain any more than his more senior partner.

"You could have taken a broomstick," Rey inserted diffidently, gingerly pushing back a wall of thorns with his mercifully gloved palm. "Greenwood did offer..."

"Broomstick!" Moody snorted disdainfully. "Do you see the ferals sprouting wings? No. I'm not going to hide on some floating twig. I'm staying where the action is!"

Bevan grinned. "Then I think you'll have to forgo your right to complain, Alastor."

Moody made a disdainful sound. "Bugger that!" He said with feeling. "A man's right to complain is a civic necessity!"

"I _still_ don't see why we couldn't just have apparated." The slightly sulky baritone belonged to the hulking form of Rudolf Bolt, who was following a few steps behind and grasping a Muggle handgun and a wicked-looking crossbow almost possessively.

Moody paused, wearily rolling his eyes. "For the fifteenth time, Bolt, apparation is noisy and disorientating and ferals are bloody quick off the mark. We want to catch _them_ by surprise not the other way around. I thought you were supposed to be an _expert_." He glanced at the gun. "And don't go firing that blasted thing off around my men! I wouldn't trust you to hit the broad side of a Norwegian Ridgeback!"

Vaguely aware that he'd been insulted, Bolt hunched his shoulders and glared. Moody sighed substantially and resumed his battle with undergrowth.

"Talking of noisy," Rey dropped his voice to a whisper. "We need to be careful and keep it down. Ferals have annoyingly good hearing and we can't be far from this ruin of Greenwood's."

Moody nodded curtly and glanced at Bevan. The younger man nodded in response and raised his hand over his head in a series of sharp gestures. Other hands appeared in the undergrowth around them as the message was passed along to the surrounding teams.

"What about _my_ men?" Bolt's voice was a petulant and carrying hiss as he fiddled loudly with the catch on his handgun.

Moody looked a few steps away from murder and the look on Bevan's face implied he would quite happily give him an alibi. "My team will pass the call for silence on," he breathed sharply and almost soundlessly but with astonishing restraint. "That's why we assigned mixed teams in the first place. Now if you don't _shut _your bloody mouth and stop fiddling that Muggle piece of _troll-dung_, all those ferals will find of you is an interesting stain on the grass and a _very_ unpleasant smell. Okay?"

Rey bit his lip to prevent a highly inappropriate chuckle at the look on Bolt's face. The Werewolf Capture Unit, frequent destination of those without the grades or brains to be Aurors, was yet again living up to its reputation. If it weren't for the fact that this case fell nominally under their jurisdiction, Rey would have happily seen them left at home. No wonder the likes of Isaacs and these ferals could get away with murder with these prize idiots as their adversaries. And Bolt was one of the _bright _ones....

The team now moved in silence, easing their way through the painful undergrowth with care, avoiding the snap of twigs and casting silencing spells under their breath on the clutter of leaf litter before them. The wind whispered through the loosened riot of autumn leaves leeched black by night-time's falling, the already cold air chilling their sweat soaked backs and casting their breath as mist that they were hastily forced to regulate. The jarring alarm call of a Tawny owl rose in the trees above them.

Ahead now, the trees and bushes were thinning as the slender hillside defile up which they had been creeping narrowed upwards to a rocky gorge down which a pale stream struck by moonlight tumbled. A small waterfall danced from the shadowed rocky gap to tumble into a pool at the narrow valley's head and to one side of the sparkling water, the battered stone-heaped roofless remains of an old cottage lay darkened and unmoving. Were it not for the difficult approach and the danger that lurked within, the spot would have been a paradise. But for the cry of the owl and rush of the wind, all was silent.

If the ferals truly were within the ruins as Greenwood had said then the capture team spread out across the slender approach had them cornered.

Reynard glanced at Moody – the older man was staring at the darkened scene with narrowed eyes.

"I don't like this." The Auror's words were all but inaudible but muttered with sincerity. "Something's _wrong_."

Rey felt inclined to agree. His instincts were screaming at him, roaring as loudly as they could that something was desperately amiss.

The Tawny owl's screeching echoed overhead once more. The wind gusted and shivered down his back as he clutched his wand.

His back.

The wind was at his back.

They had approached _upwind_.

And ferals had a werewolf's sense of smell.

The Tawny's screeching rebounded off his own sudden sense of overwhelming stupidity. The owl was afraid of something.

He looked up into the tangled branches. And saw the shadow as it _dropped_.

"_Look out!_"

His warning saved Moody's life. The slash of claws missed his throat as the Auror dived instinctively aside, ripping instead into his soft flesh of his ear. Alastor bellowed with pain as he stumbled back but the fact that he still had enough windpipe to do so was a stark reminder it could have been worse. Bolt charged into the fray with a cry, discharging his gun on impulse – Bevan, who had just taken aim with his wand, was forced to duck out of the bullet's path with a furious cry of frustration. Rey, knocked backwards by Moody's dive to safety, caught a glimpse of a lithe figure, a flash of wild blonde hair and golden eyes before it hurled itself at Bolt with a screeching cry. The professional werewolf hunter stumbled back, dropping his weapons and clutching his face with a scream as claws raked down his skin; Bevan was back on his feet, a curse on his lips but the shadowed feral saw the danger and darted sharply back into the darkness, leaving only an echo of cold laughter.

Even as the four men froze, stunned, to catch their breath, Bolt on the ground and gasping in pain and Moody grasping his ear with a furious expression over the fact that the ferals had _literally _got the drop on them, the undergrowth to their right crashed apart as the nearest teams rushed to their aid. To their left, screams and bellows and the roar of spells told that both ferals had attacked simultaneously.

Ignoring the blood that now poured down the side of his face, Moody snapped back into action.

"Bevan!" he ordered sharply. "Take Team two after that bloody thing! Team three, you're with me, we're going to help the others. Lupin." He forestalled Rey's motion to follow with one hand. "You stay here with Bolt. No arguments." His sharp gaze cut off the protest on the younger man's lips. "You're a damn fine exterminator but this is out of your league; Diana would never forgive me for making her a widow and neither would your lad. Keep your head down and watch your back. The rest of you, _move!_"

In a thunder of footsteps and crashing branches, they were gone. Rey and the still writhing Bolt were alone.

The worst of it was he could _hear_ the battles, the tearing of undergrowth, the swearing, the screamed out spells and the desperate cries of pain. He could hear the echoing laughter, the shrieking howls of the two ferals as they attacked first to his left, then to his right, ahead, behind, all around him. He would catch glimpses of the Aurors and the hunters darting between the trees, occasionally charging through the small glade in which Bolt had fallen with barely a glance in their direction. He had never felt so helpless in his life. It was only Moody's blunt words and the thought of Remus and Diana left alone that prevented him from charging to their aid.

He turned instead to Rudolf Bolt. The hunter's whimpering appeared to be justified – his face and chest were a scratched up mess and Rey didn't fancy the chances of his left eye ever again being much use. He cleaned the man up as best he could, muttering a few basic healing charms that were compulsory in his line of work, but the groans and moans were starting to grate on his nerves. He was shamefully grateful when the WCU leader dropped unconscious.

A change in volume of the distant battle made him pause. Were those footsteps coming closer?

A scream pierced the air, shockingly close by – even as Rey darted to his feet, his wand clasped firmly in one hand, the shape of Arton, one of Bolt's men came flying backwards out of the shadows just yards from where he crouched, arms flailing as he catapulted into a tree with shocking force and slumped into a bloody heap on the ground.

A pair of golden eyes glinted in the shadows. They fixed upon him, glowing like burning embers.

Oh Sweet Merlin. He was in trouble.

"_Stupif_..."

Too slow. A dark shape barrelled into him with a force that sent his wand flying and shot arrows of pain through his ribs and chest; his heels caught on the recumbent form of Bolt as he tumbled over backwards, crashing into the tangled leaf litter as the feral's momentum sent him rolling overhead. He managed one solid kick to the chest of his attacker before the weight of this wolf in human shape slammed him back into the ground, straddling him as clawed fingers splayed above his face with intent to rip his eyes out.

And then paused.

It was the male, Kane, who had pounced him; his hair wild, his cheek scratched and bloodied, his weathered solid face far too old for his age. But it was his golden eyes that seemed to pin Rey down, narrowing sharply as they drank in his features then widening with sudden astonishment.

"_You!_" he hissed.

Rey had no time to ponder this hate-filled exclamation from a stranger. With all the force he could muster, he brought his knee up.

The instant of shocked pain on the feral's face was distraction enough. Rey's hand closed on Bolt's fallen crossbow.

He didn't bother to aim it. He simply swung the hefty weapon with all of his might into the side of Abraham Kane's head. Kane crashed to the ground with a strangled cry as Rey scrambled clear of his grasp, wielding the crossbow like a club as he groped for his dropped wand. The feral's furious eyes burned into him as he flipped to his feet, blood streaming from his temple and staining his face with darkness.

"They're going to be finding pieces of you in _Tibet, _Lupin!" he snarled viciously.

Rey didn't doubt it, his eyes wide and unashamedly terrified as the feral bared his teeth and charged. Oh Merlin, what would happen to Diana, to Remus? Wand, wand, where the _hell_ was his _wand_...

"_Impedimenta!_"

With shocking force, Kane was flung to the ground, struggling and snarling against the force of the spell that had entangled him in invisible bonds. The tousled blond form of Orestes Bevan surged out of the trees.

"Bloody hellfire!" The Auror exclaimed, panting heavily. "That was _close_..."

Chaos erupted in the trees at Bevan's back, cutting off his sentence at a strike.

"Bevan!" The bellow was Alastor Moody's. "_Behind you!_"

It was too late. A blonde fury hurled herself spitting and screaming out of the trees, slamming into Bevan's shocked and half-turned form as her claws ripped the skin from his arm. With astonishing composure considering the writhing ball of rage that had just latched herself to his chest, Bevan rolled backwards with the impact, grasping his attacker's arms as he flung her over his head and away. Ducking out of her flight path as she hurtled into the undergrowth with an infuriated scream, Rey tumbled upon his elusive wand but before he could bring it to bear, the feral Hel was on her feet once more and diving for the still half-prone form of Bevan.

Rey didn't think. He simply acted.

His hand closed around her ankle as he pulled with all his strength.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

Half-distracted, off-balance, Hel did not have time to dodge. The green light of Bevan's spell struck her squarely and threw her lifeless to the ground.

"_Hel!_"

With a shocking wrench fuelled by grief, Abraham Kane broke free of the fading spell that had bound his limbs. For an instant his fire-like eyes swept the tiny glade, drinking in the dead form of his companion, the motionless shapes of Bolt and Arton, Orestes Bevan still half-lain in leaf litter his wand extended before him from the spell that had sapped the feral female's life, and Reynard Lupin, crouched, wand caught loosely in one hand, the other hovering over the now deceased form of the woman he had successfully distracted to her death.

And then with a furious snarl, he was gone.

Rey met Bevan's eyes. Both were gasping for breath.

And then with a thunderous crash, Alastor Moody and the rag tag bloodied remains of his four teams hurtled into the glade.

"_Which way?_" The senior Auror roared. "_Where?_"

"There!" Bevan pointed with his wand, gritting his teeth against the pain in his blood-streaked arm as he tried to rise.

Moody nodded sharply as he gestured to those members of his party still undamaged enough to run. "Bevan, Lupin, you're in no fit state. Send up sparks to Greenwood to sort this mess out and get yourselves back to HQ. The rest of you with me!" His gaze lingered momentarily on the lifeless form of Hel. "At least we got one of the bastards."

And then, limping heavily and still streaming blood from his ear, Moody vanished after his men.

A heavy silence descended over the glade. The sounds of pursuit faded down the defile to be swallowed by the night.

Bruised and aching, Rey forced himself wearily to his feet and stumbled over to where Bevan was crouched, cradling his savaged arm with a grimace. He smiled at the attaché's approach.

"Good work there, Lupin," he said, still gripping his wand painfully as he allowed Rey to steady his shoulders as he helped pull him to his feet. "Quick thinking. Thanks."

Rey smiled unsteadily as he took the blond Auror's weight. "You saved my life. It seemed only fair to repay the favour."

Bevan grinned at that. Wincing slightly, he shifted his wand to his good hand and raised it over his head. Red sparks exploded in the air above them.

"There," he said quietly. "That should get our flying squad's attention."

Rey stared at the spray of sparks as they scattered and died against the dark roof of the sky. His entire body ached with the residue of his fight with Kane, his mind still half-reeling from the feral's strange recognition of him as he supported his bleeding colleague and awaited rescue. A thought struck him. "Bevan."

"Yeah Lupin?"

"Do me a favour?"

"Of course. What do you need?"

"If I ever take a case with you again because I say I'm bored with Grindylow catching, please slap me across the head and tell me not to be so stupid."

Bevan's grin widened in spite of the pain in his features. "Will do, Lupin. Will do."

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Dawn had broken, the low glow of sunrise staining the eastern horizon before Moody and his weary band trudged back to the derelict farmhouse. One look at their disconsolate faces told Reynard that Kane had not been caught.

"Tricky git, that Kane." Moody's words were almost a snarl as he settled down reluctantly beside the mission Healer to allow his mangled and unmistakably beyond repair ear to be tended to. "Caught young Dawlish a right wallop – knew I shouldn't have brought that kid straight out of training but he was so keen to come." He sighed.

"He gave us the slip in the woods about an hour ago. I sent Greenwood and the surveillance boys to see if they can pick up his trail but I don't fancy their chances. He'll be long gone. And he wasn't happy either. Raved about us killing his mate whenever we got within ten yards. Kept going on about vengeance."

Rey took a seat beside him, wincing at his bruised ribs; Bevan, his torn arm now in a sling, rested his free hand against the back of his chair and leaned forward.

"So what now?" The younger Auror asked the question that burned in the air between them. "We lost Arton and Burley. Bolt's out for the count. All bar two members of the ground teams are sporting some manner of serious injury. We brought down Hel but there's no sign of Kane. Do we keep looking or..."

"No." Moody cut the sentence off. "We're in no fit state for this. We need to regroup."

"Agreed." Bevan was nodding his head at once. "New intelligence, a new plan. And this time we go in better prepared."

"And not upwind." Reynard saw no point in covering his own mistake. When the two Aurors regarded him quizzically he added, "The wind was blowing straight up that defile. They must have smelled us. I should have realised sooner, I'm sorry."

Moody waved a dismissive hand. "It wasn't as though we could have approached them from any other direction. Not your fault, Rey; we'll know next time. And you two got one of them. You'll likely be getting commendations from the Ministry for that."

Rey and Bevan exchanged glances of mild horror. "Do we have to?" Rey exclaimed.

Moody laughed out loud, only to be scolded by the Healer for moving. He scowled at her before turning back to his friends. "Don't fancy being kissed by the Minister's wife at the presentation, eh?"

"It's the warts." Bevan's tone was a shudder. "But the halitosis alone is enough..."

"Ah, the price of success." Moody grinned. "Serves you right for doing your jobs properly."

There was an exchange of rueful smiles.

"Well, if that's all for now." Reynard rose creakily to his feet. "I'd probably best be off. Diana is going to take Remus up to Hogwarts again today for the annual spoiling of our son by her former pupils. I promised her I'd let her know if I was alive or dead before she left. She does like to know, for some reason."

Bevan nodded. "I think my Elise would appreciate the same favour, especially since it's only a couple of miles walk home for me from here. I don't like to worry her too often – that couch is damned uncomfortable."

Moody laughed again. "That would be why I'm still a bachelor. Go home, gentlemen. Get some rest. We'll reconvene in two days at the Ministry. Hopefully we'll have picked up Kane's trail by then."

Reynard nodded to the two Aurors as he turned and made his way towards the door.

"Oh! Lupin?"

It was Bevan calling; Rey glanced back over his shoulder at the tall blond. "Yes?"

Bevan was regarding him quizzically. "I meant to ask – how did Kane know your name?"

Rey blinked. "Pardon?"

"In the glade," Bevan persisted. "As I was running in to help you. Kane called you Lupin. How did he know that was your name?"

Rey stared in blank disbelief, his mouth working furiously as he tried to gather his tired and weary thoughts. He had acknowledged Kane's odd hesitation and apparent recognition of him but this shocking familiarity had managed to escape his notice.

"I..." he stammered, facing the two Aurors with an expression of bewilderment. "I don't _know_."

Bevan and Moody exchanged uncertain glances. "Have you met him before?" Alastor asked sharply.

Rey struggled to engage his brain but after the long night in the woods, it really wasn't in the mood to be woken. "Not that I know of," he admitted. "As far as I know, I've never seen Abraham Kane before in my life. I have no idea why he'd know me."

Bevan was frowning. "Could you have run across him before in your work?"

Rey exchanged a look with Moody. "I don't work werewolf cases often. Unless I knew him before he was bitten, I don't see how I could have."

Moody regarded him thoughtfully. "What about these werewolf issues you mentioned? Could it be related to that?"

Rey grimaced. "The werewolf I had issues with is long dead. I can't see how this would be related to him killing my sister."

Both Bevan and Moody winced sharply. Moody swallowed hard at this abrupt revelation. "Here," he said suddenly, holding out a round, blue disk that Rey accepted with bemusement. "It's an emergency beacon. You get in trouble, you press in the middle from both sides and the one I keep on me will tell me you're in trouble."

Rey felt a cold chill as he tucked the little disk into the inside pocket of his cloak. "You think I'll need this?"

Moody's expression was grim. "We need to be constantly vigilant in this game. I'm not risking it. If Kane has you picked out somehow, for whatever reason, I don't want to be called to your house sometime to identify your corpse. Send Diana and the kiddie up to stay with her folks for a bit, get them out of the way. There's no point in risking innocents."

The chill was spreading like icy fingers across his heart at the prospect of harm coming to his beloved wife and precious son. "I'll speak to her tonight when she gets back, have them packed off tomorrow morning. Remus likes the farm and I'm sure Diana'll understand."

Moody nodded. "Good man. Don't look so worried, Rey, it might be nothing. But better safe than sorry, eh?"

Rey nodded, trying to ignore the ice that threatened to paralyse him. "Better safe than sorry."

He did not say what he was thinking, did not admit the fear that had plunged his heart so violently as the truth of his predicament sunk in. He did not confess to the hovering vision of Kane's face lingering over him. Because to do so would have been to admit that the danger to himself and his family might be real.

But that did not change one simple dread, one horrible suspicion that he was unable to shake. He did not know why. He did not know from where. But he pictured the feral's face and he felt it.

Abraham Kane was as familiar to him as he had seemed to Kane.

The question now was _why_.

**Reviewer Responses**:

Hello to you all and thank you for reviewing. :)

**abesapien**: Well, Mad-Eye needed to be normal (or as normal as he gets – I made him slightly less barking because he was younger ;)) for plot reasons. I think a pink tutu and green wellies would be a little out of place whilst stalking ferals. ;) The R thing with the Lupin names almost came about accidently – I had chosen Reynard from the start and then came Rhea. Then I began flicking through a baby name book for names with meanings that worked for the characters and discovered that a collection of male names in the R section – those with their roots in the names Randolph, Rudolph/dolf and Ralph all had meanings of "wolf-something" At that point the R theme became inevitable; I chose the names that I liked or felt sounded most wizardy (Rafe and Rolphe for the Lupins and Rudolf Bolt the WCU bloke) and ran with it. ;)

**trevor-bruttenholm & centaur219**: The R thing I have just explained in abesapien's response. :) I'm glad you're enjoying the flashback so far – I was a little apprehensive about how the jump to OC perspective would go over. :)

**BlackHorntailJunior**: See no pink! And complicated is the word...;)

**RC Dreamer of Hope**: Welcome and thank you very much! Remus is one heck of a character all right. :)

**MiniMePink**: I just like to respond! You've all taken the time to review and make me happy so I like to express my gratitude and say thank you! I really appreciate even the little reviews. :)

**ArwenLumos, Jello, Howling Wolf 22, superpan & TrinityDD**: Thank you all very much for reviewing and I'm glad you're enjoying the flashback! :)

Thank you all again! :)


	13. Family Ties: Part One

**A/N**: A quiet chapter for you. Call it the calm before the storm... ;)

_13: Family Ties - Part One_

Home.

With a sigh, Rey quietly pulled the front door closed behind him, glancing around the small, cosy hall of the little two storey thatched cottage that had been home to him ever since his marriage to Diana. Winter Hollow, it was called - it had belonged to his wife's mother, built by her parents, a Muggle family of artists called the Winters, who had found the delightful secret Welsh valley in which the cottage now nestled, with its floral meadow and tinkling stream, whilst on an expedition and quickly chose to settle there. It had been the gift of Diana's parents on their wedding day and Rey couldn't have thought of a better one.

For adaptation into a wizarding home it couldn't have been more suitable – hidden away high in the hills, shrouded by trees and surrounded by forested mountain, not to mention a good mile from the Muggle road in the larger valley below, it was unlikely to draw attention from passers by and therefore perfect for a Ministry Exterminator with an unusual penchant for keeping his victims and a Potions Mistress who insisted the strange clouds of pink and orange smoke that she shoed out of the window of their kitchen were entirely intentional. The large stone fireplace that dominated one end of the kitchen proved perfect for Diana's vast selection of cauldrons, the little meat hooks in the roof ideal for hanging herbs. True, it gave the narrow stone-floored room an interesting aroma at times, especially given his wife's tendency to experiment, but as Diana had testily pointed out, if he could keep his malodorous rabble of creatures in the lean-to behind the house for the _fun_ of it, she was damned well going to use the kitchen for _real_ work.

And use it she did – even after gaining the position at Hogwarts. It was not unheard of for married teachers to commute after all, and with well-publicised "office hours" three evenings a week, the remaining two nights plus weekends allowed her to walk back and forth from the Three Broomsticks and floo into the less cauldron-cluttered fireplace in their lounge. After an incident involving the temporary misplacement of her left elbow, Diana had never been a keen apparator.

But now of course, with Remus in their lives, Diana was once again working from home and Rey felt the happier for it. He was aware that she had loved her job at Hogwarts, but he couldn't help but feel a selfish pleasure now that her less demanding schedule allowed him to see more of her. And seeing the look of joy on her face whenever she held their son, he did not believe that she was particularly upset by the change in lifestyle either.

The house was hushed in the thinning dark of morning – despite the breaking of dawn at the Derbyshire farmhouse, the taller mountains that hemmed in their more westerly home had delayed the sunrise here. Unwilling to waste time lamp lighting, Rey removed his cloak and hung it on one of the little hallway hooks by the wintery light creeping into the kitchen windows through the open door to his left. Ahead, the wooden staircase ascended into darkness but Rey knew every step of it by heart – he did not need to see where he was going to know the floorboard on step three would creak and that it was steps six and eight that wobbled. He moved forward with the confidence of familiarity and made his way upstairs.

Once on the landing, he hesitated, his eyes drawn to the slightly ajar door to his left. On impulse, he touched his fingers to the door and pushed it back, entering on silent feet as he glanced around at the scatter of toys and games that belonged to an occupant who had not yet learned to be tidy. Little hippogriffs danced in playful circles silhouetted against the light that filtered through their curtain playground, making faces at the man who invaded this child's domain. A glimmer of light caught his gaze – the sparkling little glass orb filled with bright golden shimmers that doubled as a nightlight and alert system that awoke its counterpart on his wife's bedside table should their son awake in the night.

The subject of this attention was dwarfed, almost lost, in the sturdy and rather too big for him bed that rested its head against the far wall as it jutted out into the room. Curled up against his pillow and wrapped up tight against the cold in his oversized quilt, all that could be seen of the youngest member of the household was a smudge of light brown hair and a small hand, firmly grasped around the toy sheepdog his Grandpa John had given him for his birthday. Rey grinned in spite of himself. Out like a light as usual. He had never known a sounder sleeper than Remus.

Carefully picking his way through the labyrinth of fallen toys and scattered books, Rey moved to his son's bedside. From this angle, the little face of his barely-three-year-old boy could be seen peaking out from beneath the quilt, half buried against his new toy collie with a hint of a smile on his face. Gently Rey reached down, stroking the soft hair tenderly for a moment, unable to keep his own smile from spreading. His son. _His son_. There had been a time when he had given up on ever having a moment like this, a child of his own, their miracle. And he knew that he would tear down the eaves of the world to keep him safe.

It couldn't wait. He would speak to Diana this morning.

Pausing for a moment longer, Rey bent down and pressed a kiss to his son's forehead, watching briefly as the little smile flickered unconsciously in response to this affection. Then, stepping carefully once more, Rey edged his way out of his son's bedroom and made his way down the landing to the room he shared with his wife.

There was no avoiding the fact that Remus' penchant for sound sleeping had been inherited from his mother. Diana was a mass of dark brown curls against her pillow, flat out and fast asleep, a generous lump beneath the blankets. Rey smiled to himself. Whilst he would never in a thousand years have dared to call her plump, there was no denying that Diana was not exactly a vision of willow-slender elegance. Many jokes, mostly of their own devising, had been made about tall, wiry light-haired Reynard and the contrast with his small, dark curled, slightly ample wife. Opposites did indeed attract.

He considered waking her there and then, would have done in fact if he had not spotted the little curl of paper resting serenely on his pillow. Moving with a quietness born of years of creature stalking and marriage, Reynard slipped around the bed and retrieved the note, carrying it to the window where he angled it to catch the pale light that filtered through the crack in the curtains.

_Next time you're bored, please take up a new hobby or something - I stayed up well past midnight worrying about you. I hope you realise that if you're not still alive to read this, I'm going to have to kill you_.

Rey grinned in spite of himself. He loved his wife.

By the sound of it though, she hadn't got much more sleep than he had. Perhaps he would not wake her after all – there would be plenty of time to speak to her before she and Remus left for Hogwarts just before midday and he could certainly drop their things at the Griffith farm near Aberystwyth whilst she was in Scotland and explain the situation, as far as he could, to her parents. His wife and son could stay the night at Hogwarts or in Hogsmeade and nip back by floo for Diana's broom and its child harness to make the trip from their home over the mountains to the farm the next morning. Yes, that was probably best.

He would just have to stay awake – just for an hour or two, until Diana came round. He considered going down to his study or the lounge to read for a while, but reading made him sleepy and he was tired enough as it was from his long night. No, his best bet was simply to get into bed; with the kind of drama Diana always made out of getting up of a morning, she was bound to wake him even if he did happen to drop off.

Quickly he stripped off, pulling on his pyjamas and slipping into the bed beside his wife. He snuggled down carefully, dropping his head to the pillow as he tried to focus his thoughts. This would be a good time to plan his mission report. So... the mission leaders convened at the abandoned farm house near Buxton following information obtained by aerial surveillance and...

Surely it wouldn't hurt to plan the mission report with his eyes closed.

Abandoned farm house near Buxton... aerial surveillance...he had spoken with Alastor Moody and Rudolf what's-his-name... and they had... they had... What had they?

Lost in a welter of confused and shifting thoughts, it completely escaped Rey's notice that he had begun to snore.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Light burned against his eyelids. Rey groaned.

Mission report. He had been planning... wait. Had it been this light before?

His eyes snapped open. The curtains were wide open, the low arc of autumn sunshine beaming directly onto his pillow. And he was alone in the bed.

Rey bolted upright instantly. "Diana!"

There was no response. He strained his ears for the clatter of pans or cauldrons in the kitchen, for the familiar morning sound of his wife's melodious voice and his son's laughter. He heard nothing but silence.

Kane's face hovered against his half-drowsy mind. The feral was laughing.

Danger. His family was in danger.

_Damn! Where are they?_

Half-conscious and clumsy with drowsiness as he was, he hurtled out of bed at once, almost tumbling over the quilt as it tangled itself around his feet. Kicking it off, he bolted across the landing to his son's room – one look around the door told him it was empty. He rushed helter-skelter down the stairs, still in his pyjamas, stumbling in the hall as he darted into the kitchen. Empty. Across the hall he hurried, grasping the doorframe of the lounge as his eyes roamed from broad window, to sofa, to tidy fireplace and shelf of books, but no wife and no son. In desperation, he even bolted down the passage alongside the stairs to the study he shared with his wife, taking it in turns to write their papers from the books that lined the wall. Nothing.

Back to the kitchen. The windows that looked out over their slightly wild garden revealed nothing but almost leafless trees and autumnal grass, the merry little stream and his wife's small kitchen herb garden, mostly at rest for the winter. The cellar door was half-ajar – but peering down revealed nothing but the rough pile of boxes that Diana had stored down there containing her more volatile ingredients.

Rey stood motionless for a moment, breathing hard and trying to gather his scattered and panicky thoughts.

Where were his family?

They couldn't have gone. They _couldn't_ have gone. They_ couldn't_.

But they had.

Images of bloodstained bodies danced across his mind. He would have heard. If they had been taken or hurt, surely he would have _heard_...

He glanced at the clock. It had just gone noon. On the calendar beside it, a large red circle outlined that day's date. And in Diana's writing, two letters.

_HW._

And then as his sleepy, shocked brain struggled back into working order, the truth hit him with a rush and a distinct sense of stupidity filled him from crown to sole.

Hogwarts. Of _course_.

It was the day of Diana and Remus' visit to the school. His mind had been so full of reports, of danger, that he had managed to suffer a ridiculous lapse in memory. But for a moment, he'd remembered only Kane and been so sure...

_Bloody hell, Rey. Getting senile in your old age_.

There was no sign of a struggle. Nothing broken and nothing missing. They must have simply set out that morning as planned; his wife had told him she had intended to leave around late morning and midday had come and gone in his slumber. But why on _earth_ had Diana not woken him? Told him she was going? Could she not have at least left a...

A note. Sitting on the kitchen table.

Rey snatched the neatly folded piece of paper from the tabletop and voraciously devoured its contents.

_This marriage by note is becoming a habit. It's nice to see you are alive, even if you don't act much like it – if it hadn't been for the snoring I might have been worried. And you call me a sound sleeper! I didn't like to wake you so I left breakfast (or more likely lunch) in the little cauldron on the counter – don't mix it up with the one by the fire, I don't fancy talking my gibbering husband down off the ceiling when I get home. Remus and I have gone to Hogwarts and we'll be back late this afternoon or early this evening. I'm sure Remus would be very grateful if his daddy would get us something to eat for when we get back, since we're pretty sure that by the state of him he won't be doing much else today. See you later, my love_. _Diana_.

Intense relief waged war with violent disappointment. Relief at this final confirmation that his family were not lying dead in a ditch somewhere but disappointment that there was a chance they still could be. His plans to get them to safety that day had evaporated – by the time they got home, Remus would be far too tired to make the necessary journey by broom to the Muggle farm of his grandfather or even to go back to Hogsmeade by floo; his son was no more keen on floo powder than his mother was about apparating and two journeys in one day would be more than enough for him. He fought to take deep calming breaths to prevent himself hurtling into the lounge and flooing to the Three Broomsticks in his pyjamas.

He was being irrational. Kane was on the run. His partner was dead and half the magical community was out to kill him. And just because, for some strange reason, he happened to know Rey's name that did not mean he necessarily knew where he lived. Very few did; Moody and Bevan, his two most frequent Auror partners, had dropped round once or twice after missions to write their reports in comfort – Orestes Bevan had even brought his wife Elise and their kids three months before to play with Remus. Ares Rowen had come by to offer his condolences after his father had died and Rolphe and his wife had visited once, just after Remus had been born. None of these were people who were likely to inform a raging feral of his whereabouts. Moody and Bevan at least would sooner die.

It was one night. He was overreacting. They would be safe enough until morning.

Still grasping the note in one hand, Rey made his way to the small cauldron on the counter, investigating its contents. A warm porridge-y aroma wafted across the kitchen as he lifted the lid – bless Diana and her long-lasting warming spells. Sliding the note carefully under a nearby sugar pot, Rey helped himself to his breakfast/lunch and settled at the table to eat. It was one night. It would be fine. They would be safe and gone tomorrow and Kane none the wiser.

If he said it often enough, Rey wondered if he might even believe it.

**A/N**: As the title may have made you realise, this is yet another of my split chapters, hence the reason why very little actually happens – it was supposed to be a simple lead in to the events of what is now part two. But guess what? Yep. I wrote too much. ;) Normally under these circumstances, I would have given either part one or part two a different chapter name to cover my conciseness ineptitude. But the name Family Ties is so integral to both parts that for once, I have allowed it to stand. :)

**Reviewer responses**:

**BlackHorntailJunior, TrinityDD, Jello, ArwenLumos & MiniMePink**: Thank you all very much and glad the action worked for you. :)

**Howling Wolf 22**: Well, the flashback section ends after chapter 18. As for the confusion ending, I really couldn't say...;) The bite is a couple of chapters off yet. Concise and me – we don't often cross paths, I'm afraid. ;)

**abesapien**: I actually find action much harder to write than quieter chapters so I'm pleased this chapter has gone down so well. :) And yes indeed, this is a confusion that lasts the generations...;)

**centaur219**: Thank you very much and I'm glad the jump went well. Advice – eep. I'm terribly bad at advice; I really am the world's worst reviewer, I'm afraid, as anyone I've ever reviewed can tell you! I haven't much time but I had a quick look at _Phoenix Tears_ and it seemed fine, nicely written and characterised. The only thing was it seemed a little detached at times - if you want emotion/enthusiasm, I find that it works best for me if I write from a strong perspective and get well inside the character I'm writing for's head, if you follow me, viewing the other characters actions etc only from that perspective. Then the emotion comes from the character as much as anything. I have no idea if that makes sense but that's the best advice I can offer; get inside your character's head and stay there when you write and let them shape what you describe. :)

**Ija Ijevna**: Yep, complicated indeed. ;) I've deliberately made younger Moody more serious and efficient but still hinting strongly of the character to come – after all, as a renowned Dark Wizard hunter, he must have been a thoroughgoing professional in his day and this flashback is his day hence Moody the proficient and much less barking Auror. :)


	14. Family Ties: Part Two

**A/N:** And here we are at Evil Cliffie Number Two. :)

_14: Family Ties – Part Two_

No five hours in the history of the known universe had ever passed so slowly. As the afternoon wore on, Rey started to wonder if he would _need_ to drink the contents of the pot by the fire to be scraped gibbering down off the ceiling.

There were only so many times he could feed his menagerie before they grew ridiculously fat. His mission report was so polished that it shone. He even _tidied_ for Merlin's sake. The meal making might have taken up a good portion of time if his culinary abilities hadn't been limited to the brief and rapidly make-able likes of cheese on toast and boiled egg. Rey would have wondered at his wife's odd urge to experience her husband's uncertain skill in the kitchen if he had not been certain that she and Remus would have filled up thoroughly in Hogwarts Great Hall over lunch.

He managed to drag out the food making by burning the first three rounds of cheese on toast to small charred heaps. That was something.

On the fourth attempt, he managed a few rounds that were vaguely edible and was just debating whether to eat them himself or attempt the warming charm his wife was so proficient at, when he heard the flare of the floo in the lounge. Hurriedly fanning out the smouldering remains of his previous attempts to cook, he had taken only three steps towards the kitchen door when Diana appeared, wearing a broad, happy smile and clasping a sleepy looking Remus in her arms. Her eyes swept across the kitchen, taking in the haze of smoke, her husband's ruddy face and the distinctly blackened offerings that were laid out on plates on the table. She raised an eyebrow with deliberate slowness.

"See that Remus?" she said with bantering cheerfulness. "Daddy made us bad cheese on toast. We're surprised, aren't we?"

In spite of the fact that his eyelids were drooping, Remus still managed to grin and shake his head.

Rey folded his arms, taking his cue from his wife's playful tone as he adopted a posture of distinct offence. "So you've finally corrupted my son. It had to happen, I suppose."

Diana's eyes twinkled as she deposited her sleepy bundle of son onto the specially child-warded kitchen chair nearby. "I fail to see how good taste and common sense constitutes corruption. I mean, _look_ at the state of that toast, Reynard Lupin. And judging by the smell, I'd say that was your best effort."

Rey stood firm against the playful teasing of his wife. "If you don't want it, why did you ask me to cook?"

Diana grinned openly. "I thought it would be funny?"

"Charming." With grim determination, Rey lifted a piece of his charcoal toast and bit down. "Mmmm," he lied. "Just how I like it. And very nice for those of us who haven't been gorging ourselves on house-elf fare all day."

Diana gave him a long hard look as she bustled over to the sink to inspect the damage to her utensils. "Are you casting aspersions on my sylph-like physique?"

It was an open goal-hoop. Even with the risk of a night in the spare room or on the couch, there was simply no avoiding it. "If you keep eating Hogwarts sized servings, your sylph-like physique won't be able to fit through the doorframe."

The wet tea towel he had to admit he had earned. The porridge ladle however, _hurt_.

The small snicker from Remus at the antics of his parents didn't help.

"_Ow_." Rey rubbed his forehead. "What sort of example is that to set our son?"

"Serves you right." Diana sniffed as she retrieved her projectile and deposited it back in its pot. "You know if I wasn't in love with you, you'd be in a great deal of trouble right now. If you wanted to marry a beanpole, you should have stayed with that Sylvia Venner."

Rey groaned. Oh dear Merlin, there were times that he wished he and his wife had not been in the same year at school. "Why is it always Sylvia Venner? So I went to Hogsmeade with her. Once. In fifth year. _Before_ we started dating. I hardly even remember what she looks like."

"You know she's sixteen stone now. And in a show-marriage with an effeminate German Quidditch player with a bad moustache."

"I don't care about Sylvia Venner!" Rey had no idea if his wife was telling the truth or spinning one of her glorious webs of fantasy – it was usually best not to ask, for showing any kind of interest in old girlfriends or other women led inevitably couch-wards. Diana was a wonderful human being; the kindest woman he knew, gloriously witty, infinitely patient, amazing with children and a wonderful wife and mother but she also had a much-denied but unavoidable streak of insecurity. And she never, _ever _forgot.

At this emphatic denial, Diana smiled. "Good. Glad to hear it. Now, Remus." She crouched in front of the chair of her nodding son. "Do you want some of daddy's nasty burnt food or would you like to go to bed?"

Remus regarded his mother with sleep filled eyes. "Bed," he murmured at once. "'M not hungry."

Diana ruffled his hair, making him giggle. "Good choice. Honestly, no wonder you're so tired, the fuss everyone made of you today. I thought Molly Prewett was going to run off and take you home with her, bless her heart. She couldn't get enough of you." She chuckled and grinned conspiratorially at her husband. "Poor Arthur Weasley looked terrified. I hope the poor lad doesn't mind a big family."

Rey shook his head. "Will he have a choice?"

"I doubt it." Diana turned back and rose to take a hold of her little boy once more. "Come on then, sweetie. I'll just take you up to get washed and changed and then I'll choke down some of grumpy daddy's toast." She glanced over her shoulder at her husband with a smile as she hoisted their limp son back into her arms and started towards the doorway. "I'll bring him down for his goodnight kiss when he's clean."

Rey watched her as she carried their precious child into the hall, his entire world encapsulated in those two fragile human forms and fought back a sudden chill.

"Diana?"

His wife's dark head appeared back around the doorframe. "Yes, love?"

He met her eyes and saw the light-heartedness of her expression drop as she read the sudden seriousness of his gaze.

"Be quick. Something happened on the mission last night that I need to talk to you about. It's important."

Diana's features tightened as she drank in her husband's welter of emotions but she was restrained from asking more by the sleepy stretching of Remus in her arms. She nodded. "I won't be long."

Rey listened in silence as his wife's footsteps vanished up the stairs. A moment later he could hear her pattering about in his son's room overhead. He sighed.

His family meant everything. To live without them would not be living at all. If anything were to happen to Diana or to Remus because of this confusing mess with Kane, he would never be able to forgive himself. It might be nothing, Moody had said. But in spite of himself, his instincts were telling him over and over that this was real. Kane's face was familiar and the hatred that had filled it on seeing him inescapable. Perhaps it was paranoia, fear of losing all that he had fought so hard to gain. But what if it _wasn't?_

This, it seemed, was the price of boredom. It was not a price he considered even remotely fair.

He rested his head in his hands as he slumped into his seat at the table. What had he done wrong in his life to deserve this mess?

Aside from abandon the boy.

Guilty feelings rose in his heart once more as he remembered the one event in his life of which he was desperately ashamed. But his father had been so angry and he had so wanted his respect back – the sacrifice had seemed worth making at the time. And he had not just been his sister's son but Isaacs too – how could he have looked at him every day knowing how he had come into the world, knowing that in his moment of gaining life, he had taken away Rhea's?

It had been ten years before he had learned that his father's use of "lost" instead of "dead" had been deliberate. Rhea was dead. But her child was not.

Isaacs had played one last card that awful day. He had snatched the child from the hospital and fled.

He still remembered clearly the day a little over ten years ago that an Auror and a senior official from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had approached him at work and asked him to join them in a quiet office. He had been deeply surprised to find his father and Rolphe already there. But more shocking still was what they had to say.

Adam Isaacs had been found dead that morning. He had hanged himself.

A ten-year-old boy had been found furious and crying in his house. His mother, according to the suicide note left behind, was Rhea Lupin. And it was into her family's care that the boy was now to be offered.

Rafe had exploded. He called it a lie, an abomination – any child of his daughter's was long dead and he would not raise the gutter-brat of that creature and some other brood-sow he had captured. For all he cared, the monster's child could drown. Neither he nor any member of his family would touch the spawn of a werewolf.

Then he had stormed out. Rolphe had followed him.

But Rey had hesitated. For so long, he had wanted a child but somehow he and Diana had been unable to create one. They had been considering adoption. Could he adopt his sister's son?

He had asked questions, many of them. Were they sure the child was Rhea's? As sure as they could be. What was he like? Difficult, they had admitted – Isaacs, apparently depressed and moody for some time had not made the best of single fathers. Was the boy magical? Possibly, they said – he had shown signs but it was unlikely he would ever be very powerful. Was the boy a werewolf? Although Rey knew the condition was not hereditary, there was a chance that the boy could have been bitten by his father. But no, they had said. The boy was human. Could he meet him? Gladly, they told him. What was his name?

His name was Abel. Abel Isaacs.

He had discussed it at some length with Diana. She had been quite happy with the idea. But the boy was his family, she had said. The final decision lay with him.

And so he had gone to meet him. Abel Isaacs, a sullen boy whose dark eyes held pain much beyond that a child of ten years deserved. He had been snappish, unpleasant, temperamental. He had asked his _uncle _where he had been for the last ten years.

Rey's answers – that he had not known of his existence, or where to find him – seemed to placate him a little. At times in the conversation, he even thought he caught a glimpse of hope.

But he had not been sure. The boy had truly had a difficult upbringing but he was far from friendly; he seemed to possess his mother's fire with his father's personality, not a pretty combination by any measure. It would be difficult and they would not have much time to bond before the boy would be off to Hogwarts. Adopting this child, he sensed, would be a great deal of burden for very little reward.

And then his father had found out. That had been rather less than fun.

Rafe Lupin had been incandescent with rage. Being disowned had been the least of his threats. Take that _thing_ in, he had been told, and he would be wiped from existence in Lupin terms, never to see or go near his family again. Marrying a penniless Muggle-born had been bad enough but this would be the limit. The end. From this, there would be no going back.

Rey and his family had not always seen eye to eye. That did not mean he did not love them. And more than anything else, he longed for his father's respect.

Was it worth it for a sullen child who would probably not even thank him? Was it worth it for the son of the werewolf that had caused his sister's death?

He had decided not. He had turned down the adoption.

He had asked if he might be allowed to see Abel sometimes. But they told him the boy did not want that. He was given to foster parents and that was the end of any contact.

Rey sighed. It had probably been for the best. But he still wondered what had become of Abel. He would be somewhere in his early twenties by now...

His train of thought stopped short. He went cold.

He pictured Abel's face.

And then he imagined Abel's face _older._

_No!_

He came to his feet, unaware of anything but pure, blinding shock as he stumbled into the hall and across into the lounge, grabbing one of the pictures from the mantle and staring at it. A family photo taken at Christmas, the last before his sister died, his parents, Rolphe, Rhea and himself. He stared at his sister's beaming face and crossed it in his mind with Adam Isaacs. He juggled features, swapped parts and got the same result.

He got the older Abel.

He got _Kane_.

Kane was Abel. Abel was Kane. Oh _Merlin_, no wonder he'd seemed so familiar!

But he hadn't been bitten. He hadn't been a werewolf, not then. He had been safe, well as could be expected and most definitely human, given to the care of his foster parents. What had happened to him since that day? How had he come to this?

"Rey?"

Diana was standing in the doorway, a pyjama-ed Remus still yawning in her arms. She was staring at his stunned features with the deepest concern.

And then the fireplace flared with emerald light.

There was no time to react. Even if he had not been in such shock, it still would have happened too fast.

He felt something hurl against him, lifting him almost off his feet as he was catapulted across the room. Silver light glistened on black as his head struck the wall with a thud – he felt himself slump to the ground but could do nothing to prevent it. He heard Diana scream, heard Remus cry out and saw them dragged past him into the room, both tumbling to the rug with a thump with expressions of terror and shock. The door slammed shut beside him.

And then a blood-splattered face straight out of his horrified realisation filled his sight from side to side.

Abraham Kane grinned. It was the coldest expression that Rey had ever seen.

"Hello _uncle_," he drawled softly. "Remember _me_?"

**A/N:** One Hundred Reviews. :) –takes a moment to bask in the glow of her ego- Thank you all very much! And please don't kill me for what I just did! ;)

**Reviewer Responses**:

**Jello**: The chapter was shorter because this chapter and chapter 13 were supposed to be the same chapter until I realised it was too long. So I spilt it in the most appropriate place. :) And yes, he's cute, isn't he? :)

**superpan**: Oops, sorry about that! My vocabulary tends to run riot a little when I write but I can't say I'd really noticed that! :) And Adult Remus will be back in chapter 19.

**centaur219**: That's okay. :) Glad to help!

**RC Dreamer of Hope, MiniMePink, ArwenLumos & TrinityDD**: Thank you all very much and yes little Remus is adorable, isn't he? The problem is I had major writers guilt for that scene since I and everyone else knows what's about to happen to him. :(

**Howling Wolf 22**: This story is shaping up to be about 35 chapters long. So you're not even halfway yet. :)

**daemonwolf**: Sounds interesting! :) And thank you very much! :)

**Cestari**: I would second that! ;) I'm a poor deprived Brit currently scrabbling around to get her hands on a copy of the Farscape Mini Series at the moment but I'm hoping my Scaper connections will come through for me soon. :)

**BlackHorntailJunior & abesapien**: I've always had a very strong idea about the kind of family life Remus must have had when he was young to turn at as well as he did and I wanted to try and show it. I'm very fond of Reynard and Diana :) and I wanted to give them and Remus a quiet, normal family moment before all hell broke loose, poor things.

**trevor-bruttenholm**: I really wanted to show a Moody in his prime in that scene, a man famous for bringing down Dark Wizards. I thought it best to leave out the tutu and the wellies under the circumstances. ;) And as I said above, I just wanted to show this happy little family idyll for the Lupin family. Unfortunately it has to get ruined but for that at least I can blame JKR! ;)


	15. Into The Woods

**A/N**: The storm hits. :) Under normal circumstances, I would have split a chapter of this length in two, but there was simply no point at which it could be done without ruining the flow of the scene. So for once, I have allowed an overlong chapter to stand at its original size. Enjoy. :)

_15: Into the Woods _

There was a moment of terrified silence.

Reynard could feel the pounding of his blood in his veins, the echo of his pulse against his ribcage and temples as he fought dizzying disorientation and rampant shock caused by the force of the impact and barely realised recognition of his foe. Kane loomed above him, golden eyes aflame, his face and clothing stained with an array of blood and gore that Rey did not like to consider the origin of. He groped for his wand only to find himself empty handed – he had left his only weapon on the kitchen table. Almost unconsciously, his gaze shifted towards him family – to Diana, dishevelled and wide eyed as she rose to a shaken crouch by the hearth, her expression filled with realisation of the same truth that had moments before struck her husband; to Remus clasped, almost engulfed in her arms as he peaked out at the sinister stranger with terrified bewilderment. So vulnerable. So exposed. So _trapped_.

But looking had been a mistake. Kane - Abel – the feral - his _nephew _– had followed his gaze.

In two steps, the blood-splattered feral was towering over Rey's wife and child, running his tongue along his sharpened teeth and grinning nastily as they shrank back.

"So you would be Mrs Lupin." His golden stare drilled down into the cowering woman and the precious bundle in her arms. "Or _Mother_, as it might have been, if your husband had not been such a coward. What kind of man did you marry, that he still obeys the whims of his father when he's grown?"

Diana did not reply, her lips pressed together tightly, her face white. Pressed against her chest, Remus gave a tiny half-sob.

It was enough. The cold yellow eyes fixed upon the little boy, who shrank back into his mother's arms at once. Kane's stare was glacial as he drank in the child before him.

"And what's this?" he drawled softly. "Well, well. It seems that you've finally got yourselves a _replacement_ for me. And a replacement of your blood at that."

Diana's grasp on her son tightened sharply at the hinted threat in the tone. In spite of his dizziness, Rey half-staggered to his feet, determined to distract the werewolf from menacing his son.

"Abel..." he gasped, but got not further.

Kane wheeled upon him instantly, his golden eyes ablaze with fury. "_You will not use that name!_" he roared. "That name is _nothing_, the child who bore it _gone_! It was a name for those who lose, who die, who fall, a name given by a worthless father who squandered his potential to wallow in his misery. I will not follow his path!"

His features contorted into steely, determined rage as he strode to within inches of his retreating uncle, his voice dropping to a vivid whisper. "I will be the striker of the blow and not its victim."

Rey could feel Kane's foul breath against his face, see the burn of his eyes. He shrank back against the wall in spite of himself. He saw the feral's half-smile at his successful intimidation.

"Still the coward, Lupin," he breathed softly. "Did you think I wouldn't know why it was you would not take me in? I heard that stringy social worker discussing my case on the day he took me to stay with those ridiculous foster parents; I heard his belief that Rafe Lupin had scared you away. But you must have _let_ yourself be scared, must not have cared _quite _enough, or perhaps you wouldn't have rushed so much to obey the man who _killed your sister_."

The world tilted violently. Rey's breath choked in his throat.

Kane's teeth gleamed as he smirked maliciously. "Didn't know that, did you?"

Was he delusional? Was he mad? Or did he really believe what he was saying? Rey wasn't entirely sure, but the very half-hint of suggestion was ridiculous. He knew what had happened to Rhea. He had been _there_, heard the words from her own mouth. Just what stories had Isaacs filled his son's head with?

Rey found his voice. "You're lying."

"Am I?" The feral chuckled cruelly.

"Isaacs killed her." Rey steeled himself. The werewolf was playing games, he was sure now. He was spinning lies, trying to upset and confuse him and he was not going to succeed. "Your father kidnapped my sister and held her against her will."

This time Kane laughed outright. "My _father_? That spineless depressive? He wouldn't have had the nerve! The one bold move he made in his life was snatching me from that hospital and frankly I'd rather he'd _left_ me."

Casually, coldly, he rested one clawed hand against the wall beside Rey's head, scratching restlessly at the wallpaper.

"No, no, no." He shook his head as his eyes ground into his uncle. "She went of her own free will, if not really because she wanted to. Your charming _daddy_ left them no choice. He was not happy when he found out his little girl was carrying – how was it he said he put it? - the _spawn _of a werewolf, much less that she carried it willingly. At one point, he was threatening my father with Azkaban. So they left. They fled."

Rey fought to contain a rage of his own that would have likely killed them all. "How would you know?" he retorted. "You weren't even born."

A large chunk of paper was rent from the wall with a shriek of torn plasterwork; Kane examined the pattern skewered on his claws with bland thoughtfulness. "My father was a talkative drunk. And he was drunk a great deal of my childhood, bemoaning the woes of his life to the world, how no one would accept him because of what he was, how people avoided him, would not employ him and of course, the epic tale of his lost love and the cruel father who had ruined everything. He never _shut up_ about it. When he finally hung himself, it was almost a relief." He snorted disdainfully, peeling the paper from his fingers and flinging it to the ground. "Lycanthropy was _wasted _on him."

There was little Rey could say to such an extraordinary statement.

"You seem surprised." Kane cocked an eyebrow, tapping a foot impatiently as he turned circles mindlessly on the spot, pacing like a caged animal. Beyond him, Rey caught a glimpse of his wife, moving with surprising stealth as she edged her son quietly behind the nearby armchair. "But it's true. Adam Isaacs was a pathetic excuse for a werewolf. So much power, so much potential and what did he do? Drowned it in alcohol and _moped_."

The feral flexed his claws absently as he paced the small room, his eyes still inexorably fixed on Rey.

"He could have been so much _more_," he drawled softly, his eyes distant. "I learned that much from his binges. It was there, so often, the little glint of gold in his eyes, the moment of power, of possession, when the wolf would appear through his drunken haze, when, just for a moment, he would be _strong_. Just for a moment, I could almost _respect _him. He must have tasted the truth of his existence in little bursts a couple of times a week. But he never embraced it. He would start muttering about your bloody sister and what she would have wanted and back would come the drunken sot who reeled into unconsciousness. I suppose even wolves have standards and no self-respecting wolf wanted to stay in that undignified mess of mind and body for long. It was enough to make me _vomit_."

The pacing halted sharply – in three steps Rey had been backed yet again into the wall by the sheer force of those wolfish eyes. "And it was all thanks to dearest _Grandpa_."

Hard as it was to read emotion from the alien golden eyes, Rey was receiving one message loudly and clearly. "You're insane."

"Admittedly true." Kane smirked and buffed his blood-soaked claws easily against his leather jerkin. "But your family made me this way."

With the feral's attention once more drawn, Rey could see out of the corner of his eye that his wife was moving once more. Her grasp on Remus had been released, the boy tucked away out of sight behind the furniture. The mother of his child was now edging her way towards the opposite side of the hearth – towards the coal scuttle and...

And the _poker_.

_Good old Diana!_ It wouldn't lay a feral out for long, but it might be enough for Rey to get through the door, across the hall and to the kitchen table where his wand was waiting. But only if they could keep Kane distracted.

Time to talk and keep him talking. Nonsense or not, it was buying them time.

"Your father kidnapped my sister." Rey repeated the words firmly, almost reassuringly as he boldly met the werewolf's gaze. "She said so. I was at the hospital, I heard her. I don't know what lies you've been fed..."

"I'm not the one who's been fed lies." Kane snapped his sentence away, slamming his palm against the already beleaguered wall with enough force to make Rey jump. "I was fed nothing but the ravings of a drunkard too inebriated not to tell the truth. It was you who were fed lies, you and your sister. By the time your father was done with her, she didn't know what she was muttering. Powerful things, Confundus charms."

Rey gaped. What was he _saying?_ Had he really just accused Rafe Lupin, a once highly respected member of the magical community, of _confunding_ his own _daughter_?

"That's ridiculous!" he spluttered in disbelief.

Kane laughed grimly. "That's what people said, when a werewolf tried to claim it. That's what was so _clever_ about it. He found them, you see. Found where they had run to, where they had hidden to escape his wrath, traced by his bully boys over a search lasting months. They found them that morning, the day I was born as it turned out, held captive and restrained by Lupin's mob until the man himself responded to the owl they sent him. And when he arrived, my heavily pregnant mother was told that if she abandoned the child and came home where she belonged, all this _madness, _as he called it, would be forgotten. She refused. As my father tells it, she spat in his face." He smirked humourlessly. "I'm certain he loved that. The fact that he drew his wand on her was a fair indication of his feelings. And then he told her that this..." He snorted again. "Was for her _own good_."

And owl fluttering through the window of their home – his father's pale face and sudden disappearance. _No_. Rey pushed the rebellious thoughts back down. The werewolf was lying. The _werewolf_ was _lying_. Whether he truly believed this tale or was reciting his own invention out of vindictive pleasure, Rey was not certain. But his father would _never_... Yes, he had been strict and argued often and loudly with his daughter, and no, he had not been fond of werewolves, but he had loved her. Surely he would never have done something like this to his own child. Not unless he truly believed she was in danger, unless he truly believed that it was...

That it was for her own good.

A common phrase his father had used around Rhea. He had loved and hated her all at once. All he had ever wanted, Rey knew, was for her to simply do as he told her, take the nice safe job, the nice safe husband, have the nice safe life. It was for her own good, he had told her in one of their blazing rows. If she did not know what was good for her, he would have to show her.

But no. He would never have taken an action such as this.

_Would he?_

"The first spell he cast was a memory charm, wiping her mind of a willing departure, of any happy times with her werewolf lover." Kane's gaze was sharpened blade of gold. "And then came the Confundus charm, and as she reeled confused, he whispered poison in her ear. My father had tricked her into leaving. He had held her against her will. He had forced himself upon her. She did not want his child. She just wanted to go home. She hated him. She hated Adam Isaacs." Kane's eyes glowed. "And when the shock caused her waters to break and they dragged her to the hospital, that was all she was able to say."

No. No, no, no, _no_. But repetition could not kill the whispered yes within his mind. Those words, near enough exactly, had been Rhea's. Over and over again, as though learned by rote. How could Kane have known them? He had not seen Isaacs in the hospital, he was sure; indeed he remembered from his questions of ten years ago that it had been more than an hour after his sister died that Isaacs had made his dash into the hospital to snatch the baby. So where had he heard those words to repeat them to his son if not when they were drilled into Rhea's head in the first place?

"My father broke free in the chaos of rushing your sister to hospital." Kane had resumed his circular pacing, forcing Diana to still her careful advance to her weapon.

"He waited outside, until he saw that the bully boys had been sent away. He sneaked inside, waited until your father had left to sign the death paperwork and snatched me away. And thus began his ten years as a drunken self-pitying waste of skin. His death was a blessing to both of us."

His eyes fixed once more upon Reynard. "And that, my dear uncle, is where _you _came in."

With a vaguely disquieting expression, he lifted one of the several family photos scattered on shelves and mantles around the living room and gazed down at it absently. Diana's hand wrapped around the poker just out of his line of sight, drawing it into concealment beneath her robes.

"A very pretty picture." Kane's voice was oddly soft, but a cocktail of bitterness and disdain sharpened its edges. "And to think, it could have been me. We could have all been sitting down to supper together right now, whilst I babble on about my nice boring job in the Ministry. Just think of the fine upstanding citizen I might have been if you had actually taken me in and given me the benefit of a _wholesome_ upbringing." He sneered. "_Pathetic_."

With a venomous lob, he hurled the picture against the stone of the fireplace, where it shattered into fragments, narrowly missing Diana who leapt back with a cry. Rey's half-start towards his wife was forestalled by an extended handful of claws.

"Just stay where you are, Lupin, there's a good chap." Kane's lazy, sadistic drawl was filled with the easy confidence of a man convinced he was in complete control of the situation.

"Contrary to what this little exercise might imply, I wasn't heartbroken when you rejected me; you didn't impress me much in our little interview." Kane shrugged easily as he turned smoothly away to kick at the shattered picture fragments with his foot. Rey hoped it was only in his imagination that the feral's eyes drifted to the slight hint of movement and stifled sobs behind the nearby chair. "But I was angry at _why_, angrier than I think I'd ever been. Yet again, Rafe Lupin had slammed the door on my having half-a-life. And you had been weak enough to let him. There is nothing I hate more than a _coward_."

A clawed finger ran the length of a bookshelf, scratching away the varnish with an agonising squeal. "The foster parents they sent me to were worthless – simpering, fussing milksops, no use to anyone. My father's morose drunkenness became almost appealing against a backdrop of vapid smiles and their desperate, insincere efforts to care. Oh they tried to like me, they really did, but it was always there – the little glances, the uncertain looks when they thought I couldn't see them. They were scared of a ten year old boy." He gave a snort. "So, albeit in a different way, they made it very clear just as Rafe Lupin had that you didn't have to be a werewolf to be treated like one. I was guilty by association." Kane almost casually slashed the spine of a book with his fingertip. "I was gone from that hole within three weeks. I was tough. I had as good as raised myself after all. I would take my chance on the streets."

The smile he fixed upon Rey was predatory and utterly vicious. "And then, I met Hel. You might remember her. You did help that Auror _kill_ her yesterday."

Rey winced at his wife's quiet gasp, causing Kane to smile with glee. "Hadn't you told your wife about that Lupin? What a lovely open marriage you have." He sneered at the exterminator. "Hel was everything my life had been missing. A strong presence, powerful, capable of teaching me to survive and to prosper. Her wildness fascinated me, the glint that I had seen and respected in my father's eyes bursting to life in hers. I told her I wanted to be like her. I thought she was going to kill me but she didn't. She invited me to her hideaway. I watched her transform before my eyes that full moon night and then I placed my arm in her mouth myself and _relished_ in the pain. I abandoned my foolish attempts to follow my father's miserable path, to be accepted by a world that did not want me. I let the wolf become my world, my truth, and I have never looked back. If I was going to be treated as a werewolf, as a monster by association, then I was determined to _deserve_ it."

He walked slowly over to Reynard, his face hovering less than an inch from his prey.

"So you see, my wonderful childhood was courtesy of _your_ bloody father. Just as my wonderful adolescence was courtesy of _you_. Not that I mind much now – you probably did me a favour, all told, giving me a chance at this power. But I don't like being abandoned out of cowardice. Rejection isn't something I handle well. Especially when the man who rejected me sees fit to wipe out the woman I had turned to when he so easily cast me aside."

Slowly, with a flash of teeth, Kane drew back, sauntering back to the shelf of pictures as he lifted a proud shot of Rey's parents and drew his sharpened fingers down the glass with an agonising shriek of sound.

"My darling grandpa," he murmured viciously, without turning. Diana had started to rise, poker grasped behind her back. "Ah yes. One of my greatest regrets in life is that Rafe Lupin was inconsiderate enough to die of natural causes before I was strong enough to tear him limb from limb. But at least I still have _you_. And _them_." He gestured over his shoulder to the abruptly frozen Diana and their hidden son. "And now that you've taken my Hel from me too, I think you deserve something _special_. Certainly more special than I gave your Auror friend."

Rey froze, fighting a sudden wave of coldness as his eyes swept over the bloody mess that stained Kane from head to foot. "What?" he breathed sharply.

He was not certain he wanted a response. He was right to. He got the one he'd dreaded.

With a casual shrug, Kane smashed the second picture against the bookshelf and turned once more to face his uncle. "You may be wondering, perhaps, how I found you?" The feral's grin was cruelly triumphant. Slowly, languorously, he drew the back of one clawed finger down the still fresh blood that stained his cheek. With repulsive pleasure, he slipped the finger in between his lips and smoothly licked it clean. He smiled, teeth glinting.

"I've just been speaking with Orestes Bevan. And of course, his _lovely_ family."

Rey's stomach dropped like a stone. _Oh Gods, no! Please!_

Kane chuckled at the shock and rage that swelled unbidden in his captive's eyes. "I had no idea that such a prominent Auror lived so close to my former hideout until I spotted him strolling along the lane this morning. Casual as you like, he was, as though killing my mate was no more than a day's work for him. And although I am not really a stray, I felt a sudden urge to follow him home."

He thoughtfully examined his gory fingers. "They kept me waiting mind, sending the children to a neighbour whilst his wife bundled him off to St Mungo's to see about that arm of his. But I found myself to be in one of those lovely trusting neighbourhoods, where folks, even Auror folks, do not always lock their doors. The attic made a comfortable enough hideaway as I rested and waited until I was quite sure that _all _the family were home."

Repulsion and horror rampaged through Rey's soul. "You _killed_ them _all_? Just to find me?"

Kane smirked as he waved a dismissive hand. "Of course it wasn't just about you. How egotistical you are! I had a few things to say to Bevan in regards to the death of my Hel. But he was most uncooperative about your location. I think he may have doubted my good intentions."

_I wonder why_, Rey thought blackly but was wise enough to restrain his tongue.

The feral ran his tongue along his teeth. "Auror stubbornness is a nuisance. In the end, I had no choice but to slit his gullet and have done with it." The cruel smile spread alarmingly. "But his wife – she was _very_ helpful. Especially when I so _generously _cradled her frightened children. Shame it didn't help them – or her – in the end. They really did make a terrible mess of the carpet."

Rey's gaze fixated upon his wife. He couldn't look away. He could see Diana's expression shifting from repulsed shock to horrified fury as she squared her shoulders determinedly and rose to her full, if not spectacular, height, both hands clasped around the poker concealed beneath her robes. He remembered how well she had liked Elise Bevan. He remembered how fondly she had played with her kids. He could see her fears for her own precious child alive and blazing in her eyes.

She was going to take Kane's _head off_ if she could.

And Kane still hadn't noticed, hadn't considered her a danger. Elise Bevan had been a quiet woman, eager to be protected by her big strong husband – was he perhaps expecting Diana Lupin to be the same? He was in for a very rude awakening if he was.

Praise be for small favours.

"Of course, once I had the name of your home, it was simply a matter of borrowing a little floo powder. It wasn't as though they would be needing it again." Kane continued to drink in Rey's horror, oblivious to the danger from behind and Rey knew there and then that he had to do whatever he could to keep Kane's attention to the front. "It really was a stroke of good fortune, Bevan living within walking distance of that old wreck of a farm you were all holed up in. Otherwise I might never have found either of you."

Once again, Kane was upon him in seconds, all but thrusting through him the wall as he hurled him backwards once more, clawed fingers tapping against his uncle's chest. He leaned forward with a vicious smile of victory.

"And I'm so _very _glad I did. You see Lupin, as I see it, you _owe_ me; owe me for the life I could have had and the life you stole from my mate. And I'm not prepared to let that go. I want _reparation_. I want _retribution_. I want _justice_."

Reparation? Retribution? Justice?

Anger swelled in Rey's chest at hearing these words spoken by this murderous, vindictive killer. He had slaughtered countless people for no reason but his own pleasure, butchered a good man and his young family out of petty spite. And if his ever flowing life story was true, he had _asked _for this, inviting the bite and becoming a feral out of some foolish, childish desire. He had given up his humanity out of sheer resentment. True, Rey could not escape the guilt that he had driven him in to a position where he could be made such a thing. But this was not _his_ fault. He had been dragged into it from a misplaced sense of kindness and the love he had had for his sister. Whatever his father had done, whoever had been told the truth and who fed a pack of lies, he had not been involved in the events of his sister's death – his only wrong was a decision not to adopt a child he had been under no real obligation to care for in the first place. He had made _one_ mistake. Did he and his family deserve to _die_ for it?

It was too much. He simply snapped. It had been a long day after all.

"Reparation for _what?_ For a life you've said yourself you didn't even want, for a family you disdain? Why do you care about my cowardice if being a feral makes you so happy? Retribution for _what?_ For the behaviour of my father? I am not Rafe Lupin, you have no right to take your frustrations with a dead man out on me! I loved my sister, I would have done anything to save her but I was a child! Justice for _what?_ For stopping your precious Hel from tearing my stricken friend limb from limb? For preventing one death by allowing another? Hel Kane was a murderous, insane killer, whereas Orestes Bevan was a good man with a good family that you slaughtered for doing his job, for trying to protect the innocent! Reparation! Retribution! Justice! The words should stick in your throat! How dare you storm into my house and lecture me about your awful life? You didn't have to be this way! I didn't force your hand into the werewolf's mouth! You chose your life so don't blame me if you aren't happy with it. And if you are happy, why do you even care what I did? What do you want me to _do_?"

He saw the blow coming but there was no time to do anything but deflect it to somewhere not lethal. The pain was stunning as Kane's claws raked his shoulder, catching him as he tried to twist his throat out of range and hurling him into a heap in the shattered glass that had been his father's picture. He felt Kane's foot smash down against his back, pinning him in place as he loomed ominously over his uncle and bent low.

"I want you to _bleed_," he hissed.

And then, Diana struck.

There was no denying that it was a fantastic shot, a powerful two handed swing worthy of a Quidditch Beater, driven by the infuriated strength of an indignant wife, mother and friend. Kane's dodge was impressive as he wheeled at the last moment to face the sudden danger, but he was just an edge too slow – his head snapped back with the force of the poker's impact, blood of his own splattering fresh crimson across his cheek as he cursed obscenely. Kicking free of his foot, Rey rolled in spite of the glass that dug against his skin, grasping one of the larger fragments and plunging it with all his might into the soft flesh of Kane's calf.

The feral howled with pain and shock, stumbling backwards under the abrupt onslaught, but he did not lose his head. Diana's second blow slapped against his palm as he caught the poker mid swing and wrenched it harshly from her grasp, sending her careening backwards with a vicious shove to tumble against the armchair, tipping it sharply over. Suddenly exposed was Remus, cowering, tearstained and bewildered, scrambling instinctively out of the way of the falling furniture and his half-stunned mother to stumble out of his corner into the room beyond. He did not see the sweeping hand until its claws closed viciously around his throat and yanked him off his feet with a gasp.

Rey froze. Diana froze.

Remus whimpered.

Kane smiled slowly.

"Why Lupin," he drawled. "That was almost brave."

Rey was paralysed. His boy, his Remus was clutched viciously in the claw tipped fingers of Abraham Kane, one arm, the hand holding the snatched poker, clasping the child securely against his chest, the other still wrapped horrifyingly around his throat. His son was shaking with shock, pain and fear, his brown hair tousled, his cheeks deathly pale and wet with terrified tears and his eyes wide and fixed upon his father, filled with a mute, desperate appeal for daddy to come to the rescue. Blood was trickling down his neck from where the feral's harsh one-handed grip had pierced the fragile skin.

His son. Kane had his son.

_No, please. Anything but Remus_.

Slowly, unsteadily, his eyes never leaving his child, Rey rose to his feet.

"Give me my son," he said softly.

Kane smirked incredulously. "Be careful you don't drown in all that righteous indignation. Honestly, Lupin. Why _should_ I?"

"You can have me instead." He meant it. "I'm the one you came here for. I'm the one you want. You can torture me, kill me, do whatever the hell you want, but put down my son first."

His nephew gave a cold chuckle. "_Put down_. What an _interesting_ choice of words. But no." Slowly, carefully, the feral began to move towards the window, his eyes darting between husband and wife and rapturously drinking in their terror. "I think I've found a better way. You and your wife are getting a reprieve for your little flash of bravery, a stay of execution. But believe me, it's _only_ a stay."

With a flick of his wrist, the poker went flying, smashing the pane of the nearest window into fragments that clung like saw teeth to the frame. A few sideways kicks of Kane's boot cleared the gap more thoroughly. His grip on the terrified Remus never loosened.

"Do you know what tonight is, Lupin?" There was a kind of lazy satisfaction to the feral's drawl. "Have you checked your lunar calendar?"

A chill like arctic winter engulfed Rey from top to toe. He remembered the heavily waxing moon that had gleamed over the farmhouse the night before, full in all but name and his eyes widened. _Merlin!_

"_Full moon_." Kane's smile confirmed Rey's worst fears. "And look out there now – all but dark, the sun almost gone, and soon a full moon rising. I can _feel_ it coming. And when it does..."

His golden gaze flicked to Remus. He snapped his teeth.

"No!" It was Diana's horrified gasp that responded first, half-starting forward only to be instantly stilled by Kane's slight tightening of his grasp on her child. Her eyes fixed hopelessly upon the vicious predator in her living room. "He's too young," she whispered, pleading, desolate, drained of her fire by the icy cold danger to her only son. "Don't you know what will happen if you bite a child that small? He won't be able to cope."

Kane was laughing before she even finished. "_Exactly_," he breathed, maliciously smiling at a mother's grief. "Oh I won't kill him – I'll be very careful. But I know what will happen. His mind won't be strong enough to fight it. I won't even have to talk him round." He teased the tender neck of the little boy with his fingers, tearing at the skin and smiling at Remus' sobs of anguish and his parents' desperate-to-comfort eyes. "And then I'll have a pack again, an adopted son of family blood. And I'll bring him up well in your honour; I'll make sure to teach him _everything _I know. I'll raise him in my image, just as my poor Hel raised me in hers. And when he's old enough – when he's _ready _– _he _will be the one who will come back to killyou. And you and your wife, Lupin, you can live your lives in _anticipation_ of the day your prodigal returns to claim his rights in the knowledge that it was your own cowardice that brought it about."

With an agile leap, he landed poised for a moment on the windowsill, Remus dangling terrified in his clasp, and turned to revel one final time in the terrible fear in the two pairs of eyes before him. He smiled.

"I hope you enjoy the wait," he said. "I know I will."

And then he was gone.

They were both gone.

Rey bolted for the window instinctively; his eyes fixed at once upon the fleeing figure and the fragile human bundle in his arms. But before he could even half hoist himself onto the glass strewn window frame, the shadows swallowed them as they plunged into the woods and vanished into darkness.

Kane was gone.

And Remus soon would be.

**Reviewer Responses:**

**RC Dreamer of Hope**: He is indeed and thank you! :)

**astronut**: My cliffhangers are fairly well divided between odd and even chapters so you'll be getting them on both days. :)

**Howling Wolf 22**: I wasn't expecting thirty-five either! (let alone thirty-six which is where it seems to be heading now...)When I started this fic I had planned for twelve chapters but it just kept growing and growing...:) And yes, Remus' reaction will be interesting...:)

**Jello, MiniMePink, TrinityDD & ArwenLumos**: Thank you very much! :)

**superpan**: Now you know where the blood came from...:( And the frequent updates are possible only because I'm so far ahead of myself in the writing. :)

**BlackHorntailJunior**: Oh, don't! I have major Diana guilt, since I grew very fond of her in the writing – at one point I even wrote a possible plan for an alternative version of this story in which she was alive in the present! :) The bantering was very fun to write and as you can see, there is even more to Kane's story than Rey knew...;)

**trevor-bruttenholm**: Eep! –hides behind rotten tomato screen- Oh dear gods, if I'm being threatened with pelting now, this doesn't bode well for later...;) And yes, a great deal of grey going on as you can see... :)

**abesapien**: Thank you very much. :) I've deliberately left a certain ambiguity about who is telling the truth in this situation (to be quite honest, even I haven't actually decided what the truth is!); the thing about messes is that everyone finds someone else to blame. And as you can see, I've made it messier this chapter....;) And poor little Remus, adorable as he is, has just appeared full human for the last time...:(


	16. By Moonlight

_16: By Moonlight_

This couldn't be happening.

It couldn't.

Please let this not be happening.

But it was.

Diana's sudden gasping sob rent his soul, his wife's bright spirit suddenly shattered by the abduction of her darling son. Rey himself was frozen with desperate, disbelieving shock, staring blankly, mindlessly at the patch of tree-shrouded darkness that had enveloped the fleeing figures of Kane and his son as though at any moment they would reappear and declare the entire thing a joke.

But they didn't.

They didn't.

Abraham Kane was Abel Isaacs. He had accused his father of causing his sister's death. He had killed Orestes Bevan and his family. And he had taken Remus.

Taken him to bite. Taken him to make a werewolf. Taken him to turn feral.

He was going to make his son a monster. And then use him to kill them.

_No_.

Something flared in Reynard Lupin, a sudden surge of fury, fear, rage and bloody-minded determination. This was _not_ going to happen. He was _not_ going to take their son. He was _not_ going to ruin their family. There was _no way_ in seven kinds of Hell that Abraham Kane was going to hurt his boy whilst he still had half a breath left in his body. How _dare_ he drag an innocent child into this ridiculous feud? Whatever it took, that bastard would not destroy Remus, would not steal away his mind and ruin his life before it had even started. He was not going to let that feral turn the most important thing in his life into something repulsive. He was not going to _win_.

Whatever happened, bitten or not, Remus, his Remus, the sweet little boy who had been the centre of their lives for three years was going to come home. And he was going to be _himself._

He would make sure of it.

He had not even realised he was moving until he noticed that his wand had been snatched from the kitchen table and slipped into his belt, that the cudgel that was occasionally necessary in his line of work had been lifted from the umbrella stand in the hallway and experimentally hefted in his hand. Moonrise was alarmingly close – if he were to encounter Kane transformed, his wand would be no more use than a knitting needle. The cudgel was needed.

Kane would kill him. Of that much he was certain. To face the werewolf alone in those woods tonight would be suicidal. But he had meant what he had said to Kane in the lounge as he had stared into the terrified eyes of his hostage child; if he could save his son's life by giving his own, he would do exactly that. All he had to do was buy time and keep Remus safe until reinforcements arrived.

Speaking of which...

His work cloak hung where he had left it that morning. Moving forward rapidly, Rey dragged it from the hook and rummaged in the inside pocket.

"You're going after him."

There was a kind of resigned emptiness to Diana's voice, her words a statement rather than a question. There was no accusation, nor any encouragement, no trade off between husband and son. She understood the fate that was lurking in those dark trees at the slightest misstep, but at the same time it was her child that had been stolen. She stood, pale, bleeding slightly from the temple, a ragged stream of blood staining her cheek darkly against the flow of tears, staring at her husband with torn and distraught eyes.

"You're not coming." Rey bluntly rebutted the unspoken question. The blue disk that Moody had presented him with at dawn that very day fell into his hands from the folds of cloth – pressing the disk from both sides, he tossed it to his wife. The pale blue pulse of its flashing glow lit her face a sickly shade of misery as she caught it deftly. Rey answered the query in her gaze.

"It's a beacon Alastor Moody gave me in case of emergencies. If Kane hasn't killed him too, he'll be on his way." Rey met his wife's shell-shocked gaze. "I need you to stay and send him after me. I'll need all the help I can get."

Diana nodded slowly. "All right."

She was in shock, that much was obvious. The son who was her world, her life and soul, was gone, her furious energy sapped by the futility of her efforts to protect him. Her husband was walking into probable death in a most likely equally futile attempt to bring him back. Her mind, unable to balance the love for her child and need for his rescue against the love for her husband and need to keep him safe, had given up trying and shut down her emotions in defeat.

Under any other circumstances, Rey would not have dreamed of leaving her alone. But this was an unavoidable exception.

He slung his cloak over his shoulders, wincing slightly as the material brushed across the still bleeding slash of Kane's claws, brandished his cudgel and reached for the front door.

"Rey."

He paused. He turned. Her eyes were bright with terror.

"Don't die." The words were a whisper. "I couldn't... Not both of you. _Don't die_."

Rey forced back a surge of terror of his own. Was this the last time he would see his beloved wife?

"I'll do my best," he softly replied.

And then he turned and swept into the gathering darkness.

He thought he heard the distinctive crack of apparation on the lawn behind him as he plunged into the trees but he did not pause to turn and see. Even beneath the shadowed weight of the skeletal woodland canopy, the feral's trail was easily spotted to an experienced tracker such as himself, broken twigs, scuffed leaves and twisted undergrowth pushed aside in his hasty passage a marker to his direction. Kane was not taking any care to hide his tracks. Either he did not expect pursuit or he simply had no fear of it.

The first would make him a fool. The second would make him a danger.

Rey suspected the latter. But he no longer cared.

Darkness was gathering, dusk pushed aside as the last gleam of sunset vanished behind the mountains. The trees were a looming presence all around him, dark, twisted limbs clinging to the tattered vestiges of their foliage, flexing against the whispered breeze that stirred the fallen leaves that clothed their roots. Ivy curled and crept its way up the bark of those trees taller, older, a sheath of green against the cold dark night and the waiting shadow of winter. Damp leaves, the bright and lively oranges and yellows of autumn leeched from their hue by the sinking of the sun, clung to his boots and crunched and slithered as he ran. A hint of silver light played across the branches.

He paid no heed to bramble or thicket; abandoning all pretence at stealth, he simply blasted them from his path. He could feel his breath screaming against his throat, the cold air scraping the soft skin before bursting back to freedom in mist; he ignored his breathlessness determinedly. His bruised ribs ached, his torn shoulder throbbed and his arm and back tickled with spots of pain that he suspected were caused by his fall into the glass. Steeling himself, he forced back the petty distraction of his injuries and plunged on, straining his ears for any hint that he might be closing upon his quarry.

And then, he heard the scream

A child's scream.

Ice clamped his spine as his stomach plummeted.

_Remus_.

It had not been a scream of pain. That, at least was something. But it had been a scream of absolute fear. His little boy was terrified.

Silver seemed to flood the woods about him. The full moon gleamed as it slipped into the sky.

A wolf's howl split the cold night air asunder.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end with primeval terror. _Oh Merlin_.

Hesitating a moment, Rey sheathed his wand. It would be little help to him now.

The howl had been ahead, a few hundred yards perhaps up the slow rise of the wooded hill towards the hulking silhouette of the mountain above. Was it worth the risk?

_Yes_.

With a crack, Rey apparated.

Disorientation caused his head to swim – he swivelled in a rapid circle in spite of his dizziness, cudgel braced and ready for attack, but there was no snap of jaws, no cry of _daddy_. He froze, listening desperately but heard nothing. Despair plunged his heart – had he sacrificed a clear trail for nothing? But then, a torn thicket caught his eyes, a broken branch; scrambling forwards Rey stumbled into a tiny clearing. The leaf litter was scattered with scraps of bloodied cloth, recently ripped to shreds and flung from end to end by terrible force. This was where Kane had transformed.

There was no sign of Remus. Alive or dead.

He started to turn in search of an exit trail. The undergrowth behind him _erupted_.

Rey swivelled on his heel, cudgel raised, a cry of fury on his lips. He stifled the blow just in time.

A wand thrust into his nose. The scarred face of Alastor Moody stared at him wide eyed.

"Bloody Hell, Rey!" he swore violently, pulling his wand back.

Other faces appeared, Aurors, perhaps five or six that Rey knew by sight at least, if not by name. All looked, to various degrees, sickened, shocked and infuriated. How Moody had gathered so many so quickly was anybody's guess but Rey was glad to see them nonetheless.

He had his reinforcements. There was no time to waste.

"This way!" he ordered sharply, ignoring Moody's frown that exclaimed quite eloquently that he was on the verge of sending the exterminator back to his wife. But not this time, not when his son was involved; Rey would not allow himself to be expelled from the field of danger like a naughty schoolboy again. "The trail goes down here!"

Moody was at his side instantly as he hurtled once more into the silver-streaked woods. "Diana filled me in best she could," he gasped breathlessly, his superior fitness no match for an adrenalin-pumped father in search of his boy. "Kane said he wasn't planning to kill your lad, right?"

"What he wants to do is worse," Rey snapped back. He was in no mood for looking at the limited positives of this awful situation.

Moody grimaced as he stumbled slightly on a patch of loose leaves before glancing at his companion with dark eyes of steel. "If it comes to a battle, you hang back. I won't..."

"If you tell me to stay out of the fighting, I'm taking _your head off_ Alastor! This is my _son!_"

"Then you _concentrate_ on your son!" The Auror barked back sharply. "Get the boy and get out! I will _not _see another family massacred today!"

Rey felt a hollow shiver. "Bevan..."

Moody shot him a surprised glance. "You know?"

"I know." Rey's jaw solidified grimly. "He took great pleasure in telling me."

"I was on the scene." Moody had finally settled into a solid rhythm of running, his voice shaking with both exertion and emotion. "When the beacon went off." He gestured over his shoulder at the gaggle of Aurors on their tail. "I grabbed every man there and sent them down the floo whilst I apparated. I thought for a minute... Two friends in one night...Two young families..." He gulped down a breath and continued. "We saw what he did at Bevan's, all of us. Every man here wants him dead. No more kids. We won't let him."

Rey nodded grimly. _No more kids_, he echoed silently. _Especially not mine_.

But a moment later, he knew that he was already too late.

Another scream ripped through the peace of the night, barely eighty yards ahead.

This time the scream was of agony.

_No! Remus!_

Outstripping Moody in seconds, ignoring his restraining cry, Rey thrust ahead and burst onto a scene taken straight out of his greatest nightmares.

An enormous bristling silver wolf stood braced in a moon-washed centre of a small glade. A limp little figure dangled face down, blood-soaked and motionless in its jaws.

Golden eyes snapped up. With a flex of its mouth, the clamp of teeth released, dropping its minute burden into a bloodied heap at its feet. There was no sign of movement.

A low growl vibrated in the air.

Rey did not hear it. He did not care.

The world had ceased to exist, banished into insignificance by the enormity of emotions rampaging through his mind as he stared, unable to look away from the bloodstained little body slumped pale and deathly still on the cold, hard earth. Shock, anger, horror, misery, fury, disbelief and rage mingled together around the edges of the overwhelming void that had hollowed out in an empty space in his soul where his son should have been.

Kane had _lied_. He had killed Remus after all.

He had killed Remus.

Remus was dead.

That couldn't be right. It couldn't. The world could not keep turning if those words were true.

A second growl spun upon the breeze. With narrowed eyes, the werewolf had dropped to a crouch, poised to spring upon the stunned and grieving father standing statuesque and motionless before him.

The growl shuddered in Rey's ears. It shivered down his spine, shaking his body and igniting a sudden flame in the turbulent hollow of his grief. Fire exploded in the volatile cocktail of emotions, burning his body from top to toe as red mist flared in his eyes.

Kane had killed Remus.

Kane had killed Remus.

Kane had killed Remus.

He had to suffer. He had to _die_.

Oblivious to anything and everything but the growling silver werewolf and the body of his son, Rey screamed in desperate rage and charged like a berserker.

He did not hear Moody's frantic cry. He did not see the flicker of surprise in the over-intelligent eyes of the feral werewolf. He was aware only of one thing; his overwhelming _need _to cause the werewolf pain.

The strength of bereaved fury surged through his body with almost superhuman results. The first blow struck square between the gleaming eyes, half-knocking the wolf from its feet as it stumbled back to dodge this fearless, mindless, cudgel-wielding apparition of absolute and breath-taking rage. The second swept with crushing force into the side of its head, staggering it sideways before it could recover. The third smashed against a forelimb, drawing blood from a half-crushed paw as it tried to turn away. The fourth battered its exposed side and knocked it finally to the ground. And then, grasping the cudgel powerfully in both hands, he raised over his head to deliver the fifth and final skull-crushing blow to his sudden stricken foe.

It never landed.

For then Remus screamed.

The sound echoed through the trees with horrifying clarity, the moments before motionless figure of his little boy suddenly twisting and writhing on the floor, his tiny fingers scraping at the earth as he buried his face against the leaf litter, shrieking and screaming and sobbing in the unmistakable throes of extreme agony. Blood stained the ground where he lay in alarming quantities.

Rey stared for an instant, his world righting itself with an abruptness that made him sway with a mixture of dizzy relief and desperate horror.

Kane had not killed Remus.

Remus was alive.

Remus was in pain.

Remus had been bitten.

Remus was a werewolf.

And he was _too young_. Kane's plan had worked. _Oh dear Gods, no_....

The cudgel froze and wavered. Kane did not.

A moment later Rey had an agony of his own worry about. The werewolf's claws sunk into his left thigh to depth of bone and dragged downwards the length of his leg.

Unbelievable pain pierced him – the cudgel slipped from his fingers in numb shock as he tumbled to the floor with a thump and a cry. For a terrible instant, his eyes met gold as Kane lunged viciously towards his exposed throat.

They had forgotten Moody and his Aurors. The fallen cudgel leapt to life as a spell caught it, swinging it untouched to wallop into the werewolf's charging jaws. A Reductor curse blasted a hole in the earth mere inches from the werewolf's side – all at once, the loose rocks freed by the explosion were lifted and flung in a hail of stones at the still reeling Kane. For a moment it seemed his full moon rage would overcome the remnants of his human intelligence, for he bared his teeth and half started back at his assailants. But another flurry of debris convinced him otherwise – for a moment longer he lingered, his golden eyes fixing upon the writhing little boy with a vague hint of satisfaction. But then with a final defiant snap of his jaws, he turned tail and fled into the darkness.

"That's RIGHT!" The furious roar belonged to Alastor Moody. "Run, you _bastard_! But don't think you'll get away! Every Auror in this country will want you dead! You won't live the _week, _Kane! And when we're done, death will be a MERCY!!!!"

Rey was not listening. His entire consciousness was focus on the thrashing little form a few yards to his right. Ignoring the searing, agonising pain in his left leg, he dragged his screeching body half upright and crawled across the battered earth to his son.

Even in the darkness, he could see that Remus was unnaturally pale. His hands were filthy and bleeding as he scratched at the earth in desperate pain, his clothing torn to shreds, the skin beneath a tattered mess. His small face was screwed up in unbearable agony, cheeks wet with what tears he had not already cried that dreadful night, his voice already hoarse from his pain's vocalisation. His eyes were tightly closed.

Ignoring the shouting forms of the Aurors as they gathered themselves and then rushed in pursuit of the fleeing werewolf, Rey stretched out as he dragged himself across the final yard to clutch his son's shoulder. Anxiously, frantically, he called out Remus' name, hauling himself finally to his side as he grasped the shaking little form and tried to still his convulsions. He was still bleeding far too strongly, shivering with shock and cold – Rey quickly pulled his own cloak from his shoulders and tucked it warmly around the little boy, pulling himself painfully into a sitting position as he lifted his child from the earth and wrapped him in his embrace, pressing the shuddering little head against his cheek as he cradled him. For a moment, Remus' eyes flickered open, but his gaze was absent, blank, and filled with pain – Rey had no way of knowing if his son had even realised in whose arms he was being held. He prayed that the slight tint of gold around the edges of his eyes was only in his nightmarish imagination.

"It's all right," he whispered the words in spite of the fact that they had never been less true. "It's going to be all right, son. I love you, your mother loves you and nothing or no one is going to change that. I'm so sorry I failed you, I'm so sorry I couldn't keep you safe. If I could change places with you now, I would, without a hesitation. But I can't change places and I can't turn back time and untangle this stupid mess and make it better. But we'll look after you. We'll do anything and everything we can for you. Just _stay with us_. I love you." He pressed a soft kiss to the tousled head. "You're a good lad, a strong lad. Please, for God's sake, don't let it _win_."

But something was wrong. The nature of his son's contortions had shifted – suddenly they were not convulsions of pain but the thrashings of anger. Remus twisted and writhed in his grasp, his little fists flailing and battering his father's chest with a great deal more force than Rey knew his son could have usually mustered, his fingernail scratches even drawing blood from his neck. This time when his son's eyes flashed open, he knew the golden highlights had not been imaginary.

_Oh no. Oh God, no! Not my son..._

There would be, could be no transformation this night – the body needed time to adapt, for the infection was too new, too unsettled, to drive the newly bitten werewolf into the dreaded change yet. But the full moon was rising in the sky above, flooding the glade with silver moonlight, and the wolfish mind at least could feel its call; it would see no need to wait for his body to catch up. And once it was entrenched in a mind so young, so vulnerable...

There had to be _something _he could do to stop it. There _had to be_.

Footsteps intruded on his train of thought – a hand upon his shoulder made him start. He glanced up sharply into the dark, sympathetic eyes of Alastor Moody.

He was not alone. Another Auror, who Rey had a feeling was called Castleton, was supporting him heavily, whilst trying to ignore the wash of blood trickling down his forehead. A wad of rag was pressed to a gash in Alastor's side.

"Caught us both a wallop as well," Moody commented wryly, although his eyes were drifting to the now aggressive little form clamped in the exterminator's arms. "The others are still chasing and I've called for backup. Hopefully we'll get him when he has to stop at moonset."

Rey nodded blankly. Dizziness was threatening to wash over him as his leg throbbed piercingly but adrenalin forced it back. His son needed him.

The stares of both Aurors had fixed upon Remus.

"He's turned, hasn't he?" It was Castleton who spoke, bluntly and with a hint of distaste. He was fingering his wand. "Look Lupin, I know it wouldn't be fair to expect you do it. Just lay the lad down and I'll make it quick..."

His voice tailed off under the ice filled glare that pierced him, freezing the remains of the sentence on his lips.

"_What?_"

Castleton almost visibly squirmed. He glanced at Moody almost appealingly. "The boy's gone _feral_. Surely a quick, humane dispatch now would be better for everyone..."

"Castleton, _shut up_." Moody could see the dangerous look on Reynard's face, the look of a man who had not only reached the end of his tether, but lost the tether entirely some time ago. He knew without a doubt that if the exterminator had not had his hands full with his precious burden, he would have already throttled the younger Auror to death a good ten seconds before. Privately, Moody could not avoid a lingering sense that Castleton was right – but he knew as well just how much Remus meant to Rey and Diana. There was no way on earth that Reynard Lupin would be let his son die or be lost without a fight.

Uncomfortably, he pulled himself free of Castleton's support.

"Apparate back to Winter Hollow," he ordered the younger man sharply. "Get Mrs Lupin and escort her down the floo to St Mungo's. We'll meet you there."

Castleton gaped. "You're taking _it_ to St Mungo's? But..."

"_Now_." Moody cut the man off before he engraved his name any deeper on Rey Lupin's hit list. For a moment it seemed that Castleton intended to argue the point further but twin stares of deathly threat convinced him that departure would not be a bad idea. With a crack, he disapparated.

Rey tightened his grip on his still writhing son defensively as he met Alastor's gaze. With a wince of pain, the Auror bent and retrieved the battered cudgel.

"Here," he said softly, extending the weapon before him as he dropped uncomfortably to his knees beside father and son. "Grab onto this and make sure the boy does to. We'll have twenty seconds."

With his free hand, he tapped his wand against the wood. "_Portus_."

Grasping one of Remus' tiny hands in his own, Rey pressed it firmly against the newly made Portkey, clasping his still screaming son as tightly as he could.

Castleton's harsh words still rang painfully, infuriatingly in his ears. How dare he, _how dare he_ stand there all self-righteous and talk about putting his son down like an animal! Fiery determination flooded his body from head to toe. He was _not_ going to give them the satisfaction. He was _not _going to give Kane such a victory. He was _not_ going to lose the son he loved so much.

"I won't let it happen, Remus." The words were a whisper against his son's ear, born of a pain far stronger than the one that seared his leg. "I won't let that wolf take you away, _either_ of them. You're going to come back to me and I'm going to raise you to be the person that you should be, that you _will _be. You're going to be _happy_, you're going to be _good _and above all else you're going to be _human_. I won't let anyone take that away from you. You will be everything that Kane is not, I _promise _you. He won't destroy you and he won't destroy our family. We _won't_ let him ruin this. We won't let him win. You'll still be Remus Lupin. You'll still be my son. And you're going to _stay _that way."

Moody's eyes were fixed on Rey, his gaze an indecipherable mix of sympathy, anxiety and hopelessness. "Here it comes, Rey. Three, two, one..."

A moment later the glade contained nothing but moonlight.

**A/N**: So there we have it. He's bitten. :(

**Reviewer Responses**:

**RC Dreamer of Hope**: Yes, he does, doesn't he? All credit to Remus for turning out so well after all this. :)

**superpan**: Diana is great, isn't she? :) I have to admit Kane's invented acts of petty violence were inserted because I felt he ought to be doing something apart from talk! Plus I have a very clear idea of the way he moves and I wanted to get that across. :) Repetative descriptions can probably be blamed on running out of adjectives and bleeding my thesaurus dry for good descriptive words. There's a limit to the number of ways these things can be said, alas! ;) And I have no objections to long reviews. :)

**TrinityDD & MiniMePink**: Poor Remus indeed. :(

**ArwenLumos**: What didn't make sense? I'd be happy to try and clarify any non-spoiler points if you're confused. :)

**Howling Wolf 22**: Actually it's now 37. I keep falling prey to assaults by evil plot bunnies. ;)

**trevor-bruttenholm**: Eep! –invests in a tomato-repelling riot shield and an anti-ballistic reviewer bunker- I may need these due to the fact I now have a run of six cliffies going later, three of which I would class as evil....;) And the feral issue is not yet resolved...

**LouisaB**: Hi and glad you found me! :) I'll take a look at that. :)

**abesapien**: I've got quite fond of Kane, perverse as it sounds. Complex baddies are the most fun. :)

**BlackHorntailJunior**: I know, I know! My biggest regret of this fic is killing Diana off in the present. I miss her and seeing her fuss around would have been fun. But by the time I realised this (when I started writing her) her death was already a matter of backstory. sigh

Thank you all very much for reviewing! :)


	17. The Wall

_17: The Wall _

It took all of Alastor Moody's powers of persuasion to make Reynard Lupin relinquish his son to the St Mungo's healers. Now Rey wished he had clung on more stubbornly.

His son needed him.

He had called out to him. Just for a moment, an instant, the terrible gold of those wolfish feral eyes had faded and his son had stared in terror around the room at the mass of white-robed healers pinning him ruthlessly against the bed and screamed out for his daddy.

If it hadn't been for the fact that Rey was barely capable of standing, let alone walking, he would have been at his son's side like a shot.

Diana had been waiting when the Portkey had deposited them on the floor of the St Mungo's reception, gasping in horror at the sight of her bloodstained son and crippled husband. Despite the fact he could not stand unaided, he had refused to let go of his thrashing child – in the end a healer had stepped in and cast a temporary charm on his leg so that with Moody's help he could rush Remus to the ward on the first floor where the wide-eyed healers and the Auror had finally managed to prise the boy from his protective grasp. Moody had been whisked off for treatment at once but Rey was a great deal more stubborn. With a distraught and sobbing Diana at his side he had shaken off most of their tender ministrations, hinting at his desire to be left alone through an angry glare that all bar one had taken to heart and reluctantly backed away from his son to give the healers room to work.

And now Remus was seriously hurt, separated from his parents in the hands of strangers, trapped and terrified inside his own body and rapidly losing control.

And this bloody woman was trying to help _him_. Didn't she have priorities?

"Mr Lupin, _please_ let me look at that leg. The charm is only temporary and that's a very serious injury. If it doesn't get treated soon, we may not be able to fully heal the damage..."

Rey knew Healer Jarvin quite well – in his line of work, he and his colleagues were frequent customers on the Creature Induced Injury wards. Up until now he had considered her an intelligent and capable woman, if a little over fussy.

"_Look_," he declared sharply, meeting her gaze with steely eyes. "This leg can wither and drop off for all I care. _Why aren't you helping my son?_"

Jarvin's expression was an alarming mixture of sympathy, compassion and understanding; the look that peg-legged Reiver had designated her "that-leg-is-going-to-have-to-come-off-sir" look. It never meant anything good.

Rey was not in the mood for a long and winding explanation, punctuated by compassionate pauses and sympathetic pats of his wrist. He cut in before she opened her mouth.

"Straight facts please, Jarvin. Don't spare my feelings and don't beat around the bush. I want to know what you can do for my son."

Jarvin bit down on her lip and glanced at Diana inquiringly. In spite of her tears, she met the healer's eyes and nodded.

"The facts," she repeated firmly.

Jarvin bowed her head, her brisk professionalism just failing to conceal eyes that were bright with sadness. "Very well. Bluntly, Mr Lupin, Mrs Lupin, this isn't looking good. The bite wound itself, severe as it is, we can heal with time. But a werewolf has bitten your son and even though the infection is too new to invoke a physical transformation, the mental effects are already manifesting themselves in his mind. And in a mind so young and immature, these initial effects can have a devastating impact."

"What kind of impact?" Diana was grasping her husband's arm, her brave expression undermined by the horror in her eyes.

Jarvin simply turned and gestured to the bed where Remus' little form continued to thrash and scream and squirm in the grasp of her fellow healers as they tried to treat his wounds. His eyes were now streaked with unmistakable gold. "_That_ kind of impact. It's too much for him. His mind is too young to be able to process everything that has happened to him this evening, the stress and trauma of all that he's been through; it's overburdened, overloaded. If he was older, it wouldn't matter so much, because a more developed mind could perhaps have coped better, have created the necessary boundaries in spite of the shock of being bitten. If the events surrounding his bite had not been so traumatic, again, he might have stood a chance. But the presence of the wolf is too strong for him in this state of distress. Wolf minds capitalise on emotional vulnerabilities and after so much horror, your son is very vulnerable. He can't fight that invasion off on top of everything else." She sighed deeply, her factual demeanour wavering in the face of parental grief. "I'm truly sorry," she said sincerely. "But I don't think there is any more we can do."

Rey stared blankly at the writhing form of his only child, his thoughts swirling, his features creased with a combination of distress and horror. He couldn't fight it. He was too young to fight it. He was going to turn feral, just as Kane had threatened...

No. There had to be another way.

Diana was speaking to Jarvin, her voice soft and desperate. "But surely, once the moon sets, the wolf's mind will retreat. Remus will be Remus again."

Jarvin sadly shook her head. "That would be the case if he had been able to form the necessary boundaries to repel the wolf. But these early hours are crucial. If he cannot establish an initial barrier between his mind and the wolf's, the two will merge together and become inseparable. And once that happens..."

"He's feral." Rey's soft whisper drew the gaze of both women. "_True_ feral. And then, there's no going back."

Jarvin nodded silently, her face sombre. Diana simply stared.

The healer's soft touch against his arm was tentative. "It goes against everything I believe in to say this," she said, her voice soft and uncertain. "But I just can't see how he can have any kind of life like this that doesn't involve the Ministry and a cage. Under the circumstances." She paused to take a breath. "It might be kinder just to let him go now..."

"_Don't _say it." His tone slapped away her words. "Don't even _think_ it." His mind was working furiously. There had to be some way to help Remus, some way to fortify him against the assault of the wolf. She'd said something about his vulnerability...

"Jarvin, you said the trauma of the evening and the bite had weakened his mind," he declared abruptly, shaking his arm loose of her hold and meeting her gaze with wild but determined eyes. "If it wasn't for that trauma, those memories distressing and confusing him, would he be able to make the necessary barriers?"

The healer stepped back slightly, intimidated by the intense and slightly unhinged gaze of bloodstained father before her. "Maybe," she admitted nervously. "He must have a strong little mind to have been able to break through for a moment to call to you the way he did when you brought him in. Even given his age, it may have been possible..." She shook herself out of the speculation abruptly. "But that's irrelevant. You can't turn back time or unwind what's happened. There's no way to test it."

It was an idea. There was no mistaking it. An impulsive, untested, possibly ridiculous idea, but it was all the hope he had and Rey was well beyond the point of being careful. He was no healer. He had no idea what the impact would be. For all he knew, he might weaken his son's mind even further. But if Jarvin's words were any judge, he had lost Remus already, lost the only thing he had to lose that mattered.

But if it worked...

If it worked, he would have Remus to gain.

He would be a werewolf – that was inescapable. But he'd still be his son. He'd still be _Remus_.

If he won the battle. But he was a strong boy, Rey knew it, and he could fight and win if only he was not handicapped by circumstances. He could not give his son victory.

But he could send him into combat better armed.

What else could he do but give him the chance to try?

It needn't even be permanent. Just until his mind was ready. Just until he was older...

He started forward abruptly and at once almost collapsed as his weakened and damaged left leg gave way under him. Only Jarvin's quick reactions kept him upright.

"Mr Lupin!" she scolded sharply. "That leg! I must insist..."

"Help me to my son." Yet again Rey dashed away her words.

She stared at him. "Mr Lupin..."

He met her stare with eyes brimful of icy determination. "_Help me to my son_," he repeated deliberately.

For a moment, she hesitated. But then, she looped one arm around his shoulders and helped support his weight as he edged the few steps across the room to the bed where Remus lay.

In spite of his weakness, it took little effort to barge his way past the huddle of healers clustered around his little boy. For an instant he stared at his icily pale son, with his dishevelled, sweat soaked hair, his ragged clothes, his bloodstained torso and his wild, half-gold eyes as he screamed hoarsely, his voice a pale echo of its earlier agony, sapped of volume by harsh use but not of its source. His convulsions had weakened to half-hearted flailing through sheer force of exhaustion, but Rey was certain his son would have continued to thrash and cry with the same sharp force as in the forest if his too-young body could have taken the strain.

_Please, please, please, in Merlin's Name, don't let this be a mistake_.

Drawing his wand, he extended it and pressed it gently but firmly to his son's forehead. His face was set. He drew a deep breath and concentrated every last iota of energy he could muster. He couldn't afford to make a mistake with something as delicate as his son's memory.

_Please, please, please. Let this work. Let this work._

His father had used a memory charm on Rhea, if Kane was to be believed. But this was different. A memory charm had started this mess. It would not be fixed by another one. But at least it could temper its effects.

_You can do this. You can do this_.

Just last night. He had to concentrate, to hide only what needed to be hidden, no more, no less. Just last night.

_For our family. For Remus_.

Do it.

"_Obliviate_."

Gasps rose from the healers around him, from Diana standing a few yards clear staring in shock and realisation at what her husband was trying to do. Jarvin was gazing sharply at him with dawning comprehension and a sudden hint of admiration – pushing her way quickly to the bedside, she took in the dazed and suddenly shocked to stillness form of the little boy and extended her wand also.

"_Dormio_."

At once, Remus' eyelids fluttered; after a moment's struggle against the force of sleeping spell, he slipped into unconsciousness, finally stilled and silenced after so much raw pain.

"There," Jarvin murmured. "Now at least he can sleep until the pull of the moon is passed. After moonset, he stands a better chance." She smiled gently. "Good thinking, Mr Lupin."

The adrenalin seemed to drain from Rey's body as he stared down at his suddenly peaceful son, knowing in spite of this of the battle that must be waging beneath the boy's repose. But he'd given him a chance. _Please_ let this have given him a chance.

He felt strangely dizzy. The bed and walls began swirl before his eyes. Sparkles of silver and black taunted his vision.

"The trauma's gone," he whispered softly. "It's just the wolf to deal with. Now it's up to Remus."

A hand slipped gently into his: Diana. She gazed down at her son, her tear-streaked face determined once more. "Now it's up to Remus," she echoed.

Rey glanced at his wife and just about managed to smile before his legs gave way beneath him and the dizzying darkness swept him away to oblivion.

**Reviewer Responses**:

**superpan**: Glad to help. And apologies for the whilstyness – I really don't notice, I'm afraid...:)

**RC Dreamer of Hope**: So... you like the chapters where Remus gets hurt....;) And Jess Pallas the inspiration. I like the sound of that...;)

**MiniMePink & TrinityDD**: I know. Poor darlings...

**BlackHorntailJunior**: There are six cliffhangers that have been designated as "evil" in this fic and you've had two so far. ;) But there are smaller cliffhangers too and there is a six-cliffie-in-a-row run later, three of which are "evil". If that makes sense...;) :)

**ArwenLumos**: Oh, I see! My fault, I misunderstood. That'll teach me to write my reviewer responses in a hurry during my lunch hour! Thank you. :)

**trevor-bruttenholm**: I've clarified the cliffie situation in my response to BlackHorntailJunior. And you don't have to stock up on my account.... –grins ingratiatingly and flees- And Maths is evil. ;)

**Jello**: A cudgel... well, according to my dictionary, it is "a short, thick stick used as a weapon". I've always regarded it as the fantasy writer's equivalent of a baseball bat – a decent blunt instrument for use in emergencies. And I like the sound of the word...;)

**Howling Wolf 22**: I get a lot of ideas as I go along and tend to work them around what I have. It means I have trouble being concise and that what I originally thought would take one chapter ends up taking two or three instead. Hence, the story keeps expanding....;)

**abesapien**: Stupid Castleton indeed. And Diana and Rey need much hugging, poor darlings...:(


	18. Waiting

**A/N**: And here we are – the final flashback. A quiet chapter of reflection...

_18: Waiting_

Blankets. Warmth. Quiet. The dull stain of dawn light against his eyelids.

Rey smiled. He loved waking up at home.

Was Diana up already? Would he find breakfast waiting on the table, the soft hum of his wife's voice as she set the morning table? Or would they both be awoken by a sudden impatient visit from Remus as he scrambled up the foot of the bed and bounced cheerfully between his parents with a cheeky smile until sleep was a forgotten dream?

Gently he extended his left hand in search of the presence of his wife and encountered crisp tightly tucked sheets and the edge of the mattress.

What the...?

And then he realised the pain. The itching throb that ran the length of his left leg. The bruised catch of his ribs. The sharp sting across his shoulder. The pounding of his skull.

Memories flooded through his mind. The chase. Hel. Bevan soaked in blood. His sleeping son. His smiling wife. A flare of the fireplace. Kane. Abel. The poker. The forest. The wolf. The hospital. Obliviate.

_Remus_.

Rey burst into consciousness.

A firm hand slapped against his shoulder, forcing him back against his pillows. Diana's pale face, framed in dark curls, filled his vision. Her smile was tentative.

"Lie back down," she said softly, her voice a whisper. "You're exhausted and hurt. Considering the amount of blood you lost, Healer Jarvin says it's astonishing you didn't keel over long before you did."

"Remus." Rey was not to be deflected. Dawn light was creeping through the curtains that shrouded the high window towards the far end of the ward; surely they must know by now.... "What's happened? Is he...?"

Diana's expression clouded slightly. "He hasn't woken yet. Jarvin topped up her spell with a sleeping draught just to be sure." Her eyes flickered with a pain that Rey wished he could only imagine. "We'll know in an hour or so."

She glanced to the bed on Rey's left. Her husband followed her gaze.

A small figure lay dwarfed in the large hospital bed a couple of yards away. He had been cleaned up at least, the dirt, grime and blood washed from his body, the tattered and bloodied remains of his pyjamas stripped away to be replaced by a simple hospital gown. His brown hair, half buried in the large pillow, swept with surprising neatness across his forehead, arranged, Rey suspected, by the constant gentle stroke of Diana's hand throughout the night. His skin was pale, too pale, his face almost mockingly serene. His eyes remained closed.

"They wanted to put him in a private room." Diana's voice was all but a whisper. "Hide him away from everyone in case... But I asked them – how could they expect me to choose between the bedside of my husband and my son? So Jarvin arranged for this little ward to be emptied instead. So I could sit with both of you."

Poor Diana. What a night it had been for her. The peace of her happy home shattered, her beloved son abducted, bitten and facing a fight for his sanity and to top it off, her husband collapsing unconscious. There was no measure by which she deserved such a fortune.

Dragging his aching arms from beneath his coverlet and ignoring his wife's brief flash of indignation at his action, Rey pulled himself half-upright and engulfed Diana in his arms.

She burst into tears.

It took a good ten or fifteen minutes for Diana's storm of weeping to pass. Rey did not relax his embrace for an instant, clutching his wife's head against his shoulder as she sobbed herself dry, holding back his own tears only out of a need to remain coherent enough to offer comfort. Diana had been forced to be strong when he passed out. Now she needed release and it was his turn.

Finally, finally, Diana ran out of tears to cry. She nestled her damp face against the crook of his neck as he rubbed her back comfortingly, his fingers drawing little circles between her shoulder blades. Her breath whispered against the tear-soaked wetness of his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she murmured at last. "I thought I was stronger than this."

Rey closed his eyes as he tightened his hold. "Don't be stupid. What's happened would have tested anyone. I think you're entitled to a bit of a cry."

There was a muffled half-hearted snort. "You call this a _bit_ of a cry? Reynard Lupin, master of understatement, strikes again."

Diana making silly remarks. A touch of normality briefly invaded this most abnormal of situations. But elusive and quick, it was rapidly gone.

Slowly, her hair a brush of silk against his throat and cheek, Diana drew back, stroking her husband's arms with her fingers as she wordlessly rested her forehead against his.

"Rey," she murmured softly, her eyes betraying a deep anxiety and a desperate fear. "I've been thinking. I've had all night to think, to do nothing _but _think. And I just can't stop wondering...I can't help but realise..." She sighed deeply, her fingertips redoubling their efforts as her gaze slipped down to the bedclothes to escape her husband's gaze. "Even if Remus is still... Even if he's himself when he wakes..." She bit her lip, hesitating yet again as she tried to articulate the one fact that neither parent truly wanted to face. "Whatever happens when Remus comes round, we can't escape the fact that he's going to be... Rey, our son was bitten. Our son is... Is..."

"A werewolf." Rey too had dropped his gaze, his own composure difficult to maintain in the face of the flush of mirroring emotions that flooded his wife's features. "I know."

Had it not been for the fact that her tear ducts were dry, Rey was certain tears would have been once again falling from the eyes of his wife. As it was, her pain was instead translated into her features.

"They'll be arrangements." Diana was all but gritting her teeth as she struggled by force to be practical in the face of turbulent emotion. "He'll have to be registered, of course. I was worried for a while about whether his... _turn_... in the hospital would have to be reported too, but Healer Jarvin says she and her staff won't mention it if we don't. The Ministry don't react kindly to werewolves that... And Jarvin says she could never condemn an innocent child if it can be avoided." She smiled wanly. "She's a good woman."

Rey nodded silently, rubbing his forehead against his wife's curls. He didn't trust himself to speak.

"And then we have to think about what to do when we take him home." Diana ploughed on with the agonising determination of someone who needed to get these words off her chest before she exploded with the force of them. "I was thinking that we could clear all my potion ingredients out of the cellar and let him... let it happen down there. The walls are solid, that window is high and far too small to be squeezed through and we can easily reinforce the door. I can move my things into the cupboard under the stairs and we'll put the cleaning things in that old chest in the hall instead. I was going to suggest the old lean-to first but then I remembered how strong a werewolf can be. It might do whilst he's small, but once he gets older, it won't be able to take the strain, I'm sure. This way seems the best, don't you think love?"

She was trying so hard to hide the tremble in her voice, discussing the practical ramifications of their son's newly acquired _condition _as though it was a simple domestic problem. He knew Diana well enough to realise that this had been the only way she had been able to stay sane through the long night alone – to try and find something, anything that she could do about it, to ease it, to make the enormous burden of the shattered future they faced just a little less daunting. She needed something tangible to deal with, to occupy her thoughts, something that would prevent her dwelling on the stark truth and house arrangements seemed to be it.

Rey wished with all his heart that it was going to be that simple. His son was a _werewolf._ The very thought made him feel sick to his stomach. For as long as he could remember the word werewolf had been associated with anger, hatred, bitterness and betrayal, and whether or not those feelings had been justified, he could not simply banish them away. And yet, they were the antithesis of everything he had ever felt in regards to Remus, the little boy who had brought nothing but light into his life. To try and mesh these two polar opposites was simply appalling. And although he knew that his love for his son would always triumph over his werewolf negativity, the adjustment would take time. House arrangements were perhaps a place to start.

Bitter irony kicked in. When the bright side of a situation was the prospect of arranging his house to accommodate his werewolf son, it was unavoidable to consider that life had taken a dire turn indeed.

And that was the _best_ scenario. The _worst_...

But Diana had already anticipated his thoughts. A night's worth of brooding had led to coverage of most possibilities.

"But..." The tremble in her tone escaped her iron-tight control in spite of herself. "The next full moon – the first change – that's going to be difficult. He's rather young to have this explained and he won't remember being bitten in any case. And there's no guarantee – even if he forms a barrier... We can't know that it will hold out against a second onslaught. If he does _slip back_... There's nothing we can do, no more memories to wipe. And that's if it works." Her eyes caught her husband's once more. "Rey, what if we lose him? What if the wolf wins? What are we going to do?"

Rey steeled his jaw. "We do what's best for him. We... We _let him go_."

Diana closed her eyes sharply, blinking back the dry itch of spent tears. "I know. I just needed you to say it."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next hour dragged with agonising slowness. Diana flitted nervously between her twitchy husband and her unconscious son, anxiously slipping from one bed to the other, to her chair, and then up to pace the otherwise empty ward before rushing back once more to the side of her family. Rey was painfully aware that but for his injuries he would have been climbing the walls at her side. In that respect, the straightjacket of hospital sheets was almost a relief.

About twenty minutes after Rey's return to consciousness, Healer Jarvin reappeared. She examined him thoroughly, checking his bandages and rate of healing, dosing him with a wide selection of potions and performing several minor spells. Then with a sigh, she sat on the edge of his bed and informed him reluctantly that the news about his leg was not good. Even without the delay in his treatment, the wounds had been very severe, damaging muscles, nerves and tendons and the scar tissue, that could not be removed magically due to the toxic nature of werewolf induced injuries, was not going to help his recovery. There was little to no chance that he would ever regain full use of his left leg.

Rey took the news stoically. He was too numb by now to much care.

Healer Jarvin had examined Remus too. His physical injuries, she said, were healing cleanly and well. Any damage to his mind remained to be seen. He would wake, by her estimation, within the hour. She paused to weave a precautionary restrictive spell over his limbs and told them to call her the moment he came round.

Once she had gone, Rey retrieved his wand from his bedside table and determinedly used a spell to scoot his bed over to beside his son's. He was determined not to be out of reach. Rescuing her chair before her husband could crush it in his zeal to rearrange the furniture, Diana settled on Remus' other side and gently held his hand.

It was a slow crawling ten minutes later that a slightly limping but otherwise mostly intact Alastor Moody appeared in the entrance to the ward. At Rey's half-nod to his uncertainty, he slipped inside and made his way over to join them. His eyes fixed on the still form of Remus at once.

"Has he turned?" he ventured softly.

Rey met the dark, sympathetic eyes of his friend. "We'll know when he wakes."

"Ah." Moody knew when to leave a subject well alone. "Well, I come as the bearer of tidings. I've good news and bad news for you."

"Oh?"

With a grunt, Moody dragged another chair across the ward and settled beside Diana. "Well, your bad news is that bloody Abraham bloody-hellfire-cursed Kane seems to got away from us."

Rey felt his stomach drop. Kane had escaped. Kane, his errant nephew, the man – the _creature_ – that had destroyed his son's future and possibly his sanity was still out there. And with his vengeance so rudely interrupted, who could say that he would not be back....

The exterminator met the gaze of the Auror with firm coldness. "Tell me exactly what good you can find out of that."

Moody winced slightly at the tone and sighed. "Well, the good news is that he seems to have left the country."

Both Reynard and Diana stared at the Auror. "How can you possibly be sure of that?" Rey asked incredulously.

Alastor pulled a face. "Because about an hour ago, a naked, battered blood-covered man matching Abraham Kane's description leaped out of a local connection fireplace at the International Floo Network Terminal, killed two customs officers and hijacked a connection to the continent. He dropped out at a farmhouse near Zagreb, as far as they can trace. We think he broke into a wizarding house in a village over the far side of your mountain not long after dawn and used their fireplace just like he used Bevan's. We've put a stop to that though. I've spoken to the Floo Regulation people about this and they put up a marker on Kane's trace. If he tries to floo back into this country or use any internal connection again, the fireplace he uses will _literally_ blow up in his face. No more sneak attacks for _him_." He gave a grizzled grin of satisfaction. "We know he can't apparate or make portkeys either; he's had no formal magical training and what talent he has is wild and weak. He's got a bit of a walk ahead of him if he's thinking of heading back here."

"Do you think he will?" There was a tremor of fear to Diana's tine – her grasp on Remus tightened noticeably. "Come back here, I mean."

Moody shook his head. "I doubt it. It was made very clear to him in the course of his chase that the only welcome he can expect in Britain is a healthy amount of violence and a lingering execution. Aurors don't take well to those who attack innocent children and murder their colleagues. His description is well circulated. Hopefully he'll show a flash of sense and find a nice quiet corner of Europe to curl up and die in."

Rey made an attempt at a smile, but he suspected the result was much closer to a grimace than he'd have liked. "Thank you Alastor. For everything."

Moody shook his head as he rose stiffly to his feet. "Don't thank me." He sighed and met his friend's eyes once again. "I'd best be going." He hesitated awkwardly. "Your lad's a strong 'un, Rey. He'll pull through. Diana."

"Alastor." Diana replied with a nod, saving Rey the trouble of finding more words. With a final half smile, Moody retreated from the ward once more.

And the wait resumed.

It was Diana who noticed first. Rey had all but dropped off, his head lolling on his pillow, his eyelids drooping as the exhaustion of the last few days caught up with him, when suddenly he was jerked into wakefulness by a little half gasp from his wife. Diana was staring down at the little hand she grasped with surprise and sudden dread, her features a contrasting mix of hopefulness and fear.

"He moved!" she breathed, her eyes snapping up. "Rey, he moved! His hand twitched!"

Rey scrambled onto his elbows, ignoring the pulse of pain that shot through his ribs and shoulder as he drew his wand from beneath his pillow and leaned from his bed onto the adjacent edge of his son's. A moment later they knew that Diana had not been mistaken for Remus rolled his head against the pillow, his limbs stretching slightly against invisible bonds as he struggled back towards consciousness. But just who – or what – would they find when he opened his eyes?

His eyelids fluttered. Diana's gaze was fixed on her only child in desperate, anxious hope; Rey grasped the edge of the bed, his grip on his wand tightening sharply. Much as he longed to hope for the best, he could not afford to take any chances.

_Please be Remus. Please be Remus. Please be Remus_.

And then, his eyes slipped open. There was not a hint of gold.

"Mummy?" A half-dozy, distinctly confused little voice split the silence. "Daddy?"

For a moment neither Diana nor Rey could move. They could barely breathe. After so much they had barely dared to believe... Could it be true?

Remus was staring at the unfamiliar surroundings in confusion, his small face creased by the sudden realisation of pain. His lip trembled.

"It _hurts_," he murmured, his tone both deeply bemused and distinctly not happy. "And I feel all _funny_."

Mothering instincts overrode shock – with a cry of utter relief combined with a powerful desire to comfort her confused child, Diana released Jarvin's spell with a flick of her wand and leaned forward, wrapping her son up in her arms and stroking his hair as she clasped him against her. The disconcertion melted from Remus' face at the familiar proximity of his mummy – with a little sniff he buried himself reassuringly into the cuddle. In spite of the fact that he was clearly in some pain from his bite wound and had yet to realise just how his innocuously christened _funny feeling_ was going to change his life, he managed a little smile.

Rey stared at them, simply stared, drinking in the sight that he had feared so deeply he might never see again, his little boy snuggled contentedly in the comforting arms of his mother. Gently he reached out a hand and stroked it along his son's shoulder.

_He did it. He won. My little boy. He won_.

_We're going to be all right_.

And he knew it. Oh yes, the future they faced was difficult; they were by no means out of the woods that Kane had plunged them into. There would be challenges, many challenges ahead, the bright and easy life he had dreamt of for his son lost with the snap of wolfish jaws. And there was still the uncertainty of the next full moon.

But they were still together. They were still a family. They still had each other. And they would beat those challenges. They would be fine. Remus would be fine.

He was sure of it.

**A/N**: So that's it – your last flashback chapter. In the next chapter, we're back in the present. :) Just a reminder now – this weekend's part will be posted either on Friday or Monday because I am going away for the weekend to the Lake District (Yay! Scenary! :)) And I don't know if I'll have time to post on the Friday before I leave or not. But not Saturday, as I will be nowhere near a computer by then. ;)

**RC Dreamer of Hope**: I wouldn't say I love putting my characters through pain. I have guilt about but there's no denying its much more interesting to write! Adult Remus will be back in chapter 19 – this weekend's update. :)

**Howling Wolf 22**: A sequel is a maybe. I have an idea for one but I'm not sure I'll have the time once this fic is finished, in the near future at least...:( As for Rey's reasons for leaving the charm in place so long – yes he did have some and he will be explaining himself in chapter 19. :)

**Captain-Eon-Sparrow**: Welcome and I'm glad you like it! Flattery is always appreciated, accepted and fed to my inflating ego...;)

**MiniMePink, ArwenLumos & TrinityDD**: 'Twas sad, wasn't it...:( Thanks for reviewing. :)

**BlackHorntailJunior**: You think I'm evil now? Wait until you see what's coming... ;)

**Jello**: Everyone should be given their chance to expand their repertoire on fantasy weaponry...;) Big Remus is back for chapter 19. :)

**superpan**: -adopts protective cuddle- You can't have Remus! I have bagsies! ;) But I'll be releasing him to appear in chapter 19. ;)

**NatashaTeenTitan**: Welcome and thank you very much! As I said, all nice comments are used to keep my ego happy (if not docile...). Apologies for the depressing bits, but in my defence JK Rowling started it! I'm just elaborating on her depressing backstory for Remus...;)

**Ija Ijevna**: Your style is very poetic. It's nice, I like it. :) And I wanted to show the discrimination right from the start, especially for Rey who had a quite similar attitude to werewolves himself until his son became one. I wanted to show the change in reaction and his own sudden awareness of how his son is going to be treated from now on. ;)

**trevor-bruttenholm**: I really wanted to capture Rey and Diana's feelings in this aftermath, which is what I hope this chapter has done. :) And you can relax a little – although evil cliffie three is only a few chapters away, the big scary run doesn't come until chapters numbering in the late twenties...;)

**Neoma**: Welcome back! ;) And thank you very much. :)

Thank you all very much! Remember, the next update will be either Friday or Monday. :)


	19. Part Three: The Waiting Wolf A Matter o...

**A/N: **Apologies for the wait on this chapter – by the time I found a moment to write out all my reviewer responses, it seemed more logical to post this part as an early Wednesday post rather than an incredibly late Saturday. Normal posting service will resume from this Saturday. :) But now, it's back to the present....;)

**Part Three: The Waiting Wolf **

_19: A Matter of Blame_

**Hogwarts, Early November 1996.**

A deathly stillness permeated the length of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing.

The silence seemed to stretch for years.

Two motionless figures stared at each other; the younger man, his brown hair greying slightly, his throat red-raw, resting back against the headboard of his bed as he watched the older man sitting on the edge of his mattress as he struggled to compose himself enough to continue. It was not an easy task.

"Even then, we weren't sure." The words when they came echoed against the weight of what had passed before; Reynard Lupin's grasp on the hand of his son had not lessened once throughout the telling of his tale. "Oh, we had more hope than we'd dared to dream of the night before, but we still had no way of knowing what would happen after your first full moon. You'd formed a barrier, yes, but how you'd handle another incursion from the wolf, especially since I'd taken the memory of your first one, we just had no idea. You'd be starting over. We did our very best to explain it to you – but how do you explain to a three year old the concept of becoming a werewolf? We _cherished_ that month – for all we knew, it was going to be our last together. And when the full moon came..." His voice faltered slightly as he squeezed his son's fingers almost as though to reassure himself that he really was there, alive, full grown and sane. "That night almost broke both of our hearts. I don't think I've ever felt so bad in all my life as I did that night watching poor Diana carry you down those cellar steps and leaving you down there in the dark, confused, unwell and naked to face that change alone. And then sitting in the kitchen, listening to you scream as the moon rose..."

"Dad, _don't_." Remus stepped in before his father upset himself further, reaching out to grasp his father's shoulder with his free hand. "You don't have to..."

His father's eyes rose to meet his son's. "But I _do_ have to. Remus, I've bottled this up for thirty-four years and more, barely even discussing it with your mother for fear of upsetting her again. Selfish as it sounds, I _need_ this."

Remus sighed. His mind was still reeling, struggling to absorb the string of revelations that had emerged from his father's tale of the past. Abraham Kane was Abel Isaacs. His _cousin_ of all things. And if it hadn't been for his father's unexpectedly speedy pursuit and quick thinking in the hospital he would either be dead by euthanasia or raving golden-eyed in The Howling and slaughtering his friends and family for the kicks.

The thought of how close he had come to either fate made him shudder.

He remembered the depth of shock and horror that his parents had never quite managed to conceal when the truth behind that feral night in 1981 had been revealed to them. It must have been as though their worst nightmares from his childhood had sprung back to life.

"That first night, listening to you down there, transformed, tearing at the walls, howling and shrieking –it was agony." Reynard resumed his tale, his gaze absent and faraway in the past as he delved once more into his most painful memories. "Our child was in the greatest pain and we could not even say whether or not he would still be the son we loved when morning came. But when the moon went down and you fell silent, your mother dared to open the cellar and there you were. In pain, yes, scratched up from head to foot, confused, bewildered, sobbing and terribly upset, but all that could be soothed away with a little time – what mattered to us was that you were still _yourself_. It was only then that we knew once and for all that we would be all right."

He toyed absently with his cane with his free hand. "I'd be lying if I said it was easy after that – every full moon was almost as dreadful as the first for us all. And it wasn't just the adaptations we had to make to our lifestyle because of it – for myself at least, it required a serious mental overhaul. In one night I'd gone from hating werewolves with a passion to having one for a son." He smiled crookedly, but there was a hint of uncertainty, as though he feared how his son would react to knowledge of his former standpoint. "It took a little getting used to."

Remus smiled too, reassuringly. "I can imagine."

Rey's smile grew a little more confident. "The likes of Kane and his ilk I'll always despise," he admitted with feeling. "And after all he did to us, I feel no wrong in doing so. There's werewolves and there's _werewolves_ and the world would be a better place if more people understood the difference. But when it comes to what _you _go through and others like you, those who don't ask for it, don't want it, don't let it take over their lives, I'd fight to the death for your rights."

Remus grinned broadly; this he knew for certain to be true. "I know _that_. I bailed you out of the Ministry holding cells just before last Christmas for beating up that Anti-werewolf protestor in Diagon Alley, remember?"

Rey sniffed, but his smile was wry and slightly crooked. "The man was an idiot. He didn't know what he was talking about. And he started it; I refuse to believe that sideswipe with his placard was an accident. Besides, one good slap with a cane is not beating up, thank you."

Teasing his father was one trait that Remus had inherited from his mother with enthusiasm. "That carol-singer described you as – how did he put it? Oh yes, a _spitting ball of white-haired_ _fury._ Honestly dad, you're lucky your idiot didn't press charges."

Rey's sudden grin was slightly wicked. "Thirty years of age and beaten up by a seventy year old with a gammy leg? He was too_ embarrassed_."

The brief laughter lightened the heavy mood for a moment. But only for a moment.

Reynard's expression was suddenly sombre once more as he stared as his pale son, curled up yet again in a hospital bed. His eyes drifted to the red gashes at his throat.

"I should have told you this sooner." His voice was a whispered hush. "If you'd have known, you might have been prepared..."

Remus gave a rueful chuckle. "Dad, I'm a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. That's about as prepared as it's supposed to _get_. I can get into trouble quite well enough by myself without needing you to try and steal all the blame."

Rey was shaking his head. "But still... The memory charm was necessary at the time, I hope you understand that now, but I _should_ have told you when you were older. But we were just so afraid that if we told you and you remembered, it might all come back..." He sighed deeply. "All through your childhood, we tried to shield you, to keep you away from anything that might upset you, distress you in any way. We were terrified to take you out of our home, of taking you anywhere that you might face the kind of disdain and prejudice that people direct at werewolves. We coddled you to an absurd extent, I can see that now, but at the time it was all so fresh in our minds, what had happened, what could happen again if your emotions got away from you. I'll admit – for a while I was all for keeping you out of Hogwarts even if they'd have you."

He smiled, a soft smile tempered around the edges with still sharp grief. "But Diana – she could see you weren't happy at the idea of being a recluse. She saw the looks on your face when you watched other children play near the farm, the wistful pleasure whenever we dared to go anywhere different like Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. And she knew that in spite of our fears, Hogwarts would be the best thing for you." His smile spread with sudden recollection. "Oh she fought old Armando Dippet like a tiger when he told her that Hogwarts would not accept a werewolf pupil. I swear sometimes he retired just to get her to leave him alone. And then Dumbledore became headmaster, your mother's closest friend amongst the staff..."

Both men shared a smile for a moment, before Rey met his son's eyes once more. "I suppose that would have been the time to tell you. We had lost the excuse of your being too young – if eleven was old enough for Hogwarts, it was old enough to understand. But you were so happy at the idea of going to school – we couldn't bring ourselves to spoil it."

He sighed as he dropped his gaze once more. "We decided then that we would tell you the next time you asked us. And we waited, with some trepidation for the inevitable questions. But they never came; you never asked. And secretly, we both drew a sigh of relief." He raised his eyes once more, an eyebrow cocked quizzically. "I've often wondered Remus – _why_ didn't you ask? You must have been curious."

Remus closed his eyes at the memory. "I did ask. When I was nine, I asked mum. She burst into tears all over the place. After that I was afraid to ask again in case..." He removed his hand from his father's shoulder to wipe it wearily across his brow. "I couldn't stand the thought of making mum upset. And if one innocent question could hurt her so much..."

Reynard's grip on his son's hand tightened yet again. "Remus you were the most precious thing in our lives – you remain the most precious thing in mine. You were the only child we had, the only child we were going to have and we both loved you very dearly. Even yesterday, I almost had a heart attack when Albus Dumbledore called me in the fire to say Abraham Kane had all but torn your throat out." His features looked drawn and suddenly tired. "That night with Kane, the night you were bitten, was the very worst thing that either of us had ever, could ever have been through. It was our worst nightmare, worse than our worst nightmare and it was _real_. We went from thinking you dead or worse, like _him_, to finding you bitten and bleeding and then watching you writhe and scream and rage like a feral before our eyes, knowing that our son was underneath there somewhere, unable to get out and probably terrified. Do you blame your mother for crying at the thought of it?"

Remus shook his head. "Of course not. But I didn't know that. I was a child and I'd made my mum _cry_. She almost never cried and I had caused it. I wasn't about to try it _again_."

Rey nodded thoughtfully. "Diana told me about it afterwards. But we didn't realise it would have such an impact on you."

"I _loved_ mum. Do you think I wanted to see her cry just to satisfy my curiosity? I told myself it was the past, that it didn't matter. It wasn't as though it could be changed."

Rey stared at the ceiling for a moment. "No, it can't be changed. But unfortunately, it _does_ matter." He sighed again, dropping his eyes. "You were so happy at Hogwarts, happy with your friends. And then when you left school and got involved in the war... How could we add to your burdens like that? We were so afraid for you in those awful days, not just because your life was in danger, but because of the stress, the grief, the fear; what if it overwhelmed you? It began to look as though we would have to tell you, if only to warn you of how important it was to keep yourself controlled. But we put it off and put it off, thinking we'd still have time..." His voice trailed off into cold blankness, his eyes haunted. "But we didn't."

Coldness welled within Remus' chest. "1981."

His father nodded. "1981."

A slow, terrible realisation slipped into Remus' mind. "Two feral incidents. By the rules in those days, I would have been executed without trial. Even by today's standards, I should be locked up and probably facing Azkaban."

Rey was struggling to retain his composure. "Believe me, I _know_. When Alastor flooed in to tell us that day, still bleeding from where you'd hit him in your frenzy..."

He shuddered. "If it had been anyone but Alastor and Albus Dumbledore who saw it - it was only by good will that those healers and the other Aurors kept quiet when you were a child, one word would have been enough. Alastor had to all but threaten Jasper Castleton not to report you when you first registered and he never stopped resenting him for that. And at the time of your... _incident_, he was fairly high up in the ranks. If he'd have got word of it..."

Remus could feel his stomach plunging with horror at the closeness of his call. "Dad, I'm so sorry, I..."

"Stop that right now!" Reynard cut his son's apology off sharply. "You have _nothing,_ absolutely _nothing_ to apologise for in this. You couldn't help what happened that day, you had no idea you were more vulnerable than might have been. And given the depth of your grief, even if you'd known..."

He closed his eyes, kneading his forehead with the fingertips of his free hand. "We should have told you then. No more excuses. But now it had happened, now that we knew our fears had been real all along, we were too afraid..."

There was a long silence.

This time when he spoke, Rey's voice did break. "And then when your mother died, I was so afraid again, if you grieved too much, if you were angry enough, I might lose you as well as her..."

The barricades finally gave way. Reynard Lupin broke down and burst into thirty-four years worth of repressed tears.

Remus immediately flung himself forward and wrapped his arms around his sobbing father, drawing him rapidly into a comforting embrace. Rey clung to his son, face buried in his shoulder as he vented a lifetime's worth of pent-up emotion in a sudden rush, his sister's death, that awful night in the woods, the bite, the terrible sounds of all those full moon nights, his son's feral incident, his wife's death, all held back in an effort to be strong behind walls that could no longer take the strain.

He cried for some time.

Remus cried too. Cried for his mother, for his father's pain, for his lost friends and broken family. He shared his father's grief and wept.

Finally, when the storm of tears for both had passed, father and son slowly broke apart, pale, damp-cheeked and faintly embarrassed as they wiped their faces dry and shared a rueful smile.

"Well, that was exhilarating." Remus commented with deliberate nonchalance. Rey fixed his bloodshot eyes on his son as he fixed him with a mock glare.

"Watch it," he retorted, half lifting his cane. "I've never had to discipline you before but its not to late to start."

Remus managed to grin. "Would it make it easier if I dressed up as an Anti-werewolf campaigner?"

Rey tried to suppress the smile but failed in spectacular fashion. "Dear Gods, my boy, you are _far_ too much like your mother. I knew I shouldn't have let her spend so much time warping your mind when you were young and impressionable."

Remus laughed again. "I think it was fairly well warped by genetics." He paused, allowing more serious thoughts to fill his mind as he touched his father's arm with concern. "Are you all right now?"

Rey waved a dismissive hand that told Remus eloquently that his father was still shaky but would sooner die than admit it to his son. "I'm fine," he said softly, a hint of a catch in his tone that he struggled to conceal. "It's just I had a long night worrying about you, thinking about all of this and then retelling it all on top of talking about when your mother..." He caught his breath determinedly. "It still hurts, I suppose. I think it always will. And if I live to be three hundred, I'll never stop missing Diana. One more thing to thank Kane for I suppose..."

_What?_

The words registered sharply. Remus head snapped up even as his father's mouth snapped closed, a sudden fear slipping across his eyes as he seemed to realise he had let slip something he had intended to remain concealed. The intense emotional release of moments before had apparently shaken his composure rather more than he had realised.

"What did you say?" Remus' gaze bored into his father sharply.

He could tell at once that Reynard was going to try and shrug it off. "It's nothing really, forget I..."

It was Remus' turn to cut away the words. "No, dad, don't you dare, not after all we've been through. I know what I heard. What did you mean by it?"

There was a weariness in Reynard's gaze and an unconcealed apprehension. "You have to promise me," he said softly. "Promise me that if I tell you that you won't do anything stupid. I almost lost you yesterday and I couldn't stand to go through that again."

"I promise I'll be careful." Either Rey missed the dodge or he was too tired to dispute it. Remus suspected the latter and fought a twinge of guilt.

Reynard was once more staring at the bedclothes, his eyes strangely empty. "The morning before your mother died," he said softly. "She sent me an owl from her hotel in Paris. She said..." For a moment the words seemed to catch in his throat; he struggled to continue. "She said she thought she had seen someone following her in one of the markets. She thought... she was afraid it was... She said it looked like Kane."

The world seemed to rock on its axis. Remus fought the ice that threatened to bury him completely as he drew back from Reynard in shock.

"I told her to come home." His father's stare remained fixed stubbornly downwards. "But she was finally getting some recognition for her potion, she was so determined for it to be a success..." He sighed. "I know nothing for sure – nobody does. Only that your mother was not clumsy and not stupid and don't see how she could have managed to fall out of a window without... _help_."

Remus was struggling to avoid drowning in the turbulent tumult of emotions that plunged and swirled through him – only the stark realisation of what drowning could mean helped to keep his head above water.

"You think he pushed her." At articulation of the words, the torrent surged.

Rey nodded wordlessly.

"But why push her out a window?" Coherent thought, that was important – he had to hold onto to coherent, logical thought. "Why not just kill her as he killed the Bevans?"

Rey gave a bitter smile. "The French laws on werewolves are pretty severe. A feral killing would lead to an enormous hunt. I think Kane was lurking, looking for an excuse to come back into the country now he was mostly forgotten. To have a fuss kicked up would have been the last thing he needed if that were the case; alerting the British Aurors to a possible threat."

"But then why risk killing mum?" The words tasted fiery and bitter on his tongue.

"Opportunity." Rey sighed. "I don't think he knew she would be there. I suspect he probably just saw her on the streets and followed her back to the hotel. Coincidence, I imagine. A lucky chance for him." His hands were shaking, his voice a tremble. "I don't know if he did it out of spite, for revenge, for the pleasure or just to see what it would do to you and me. I never found him to ask him."

Remus felt his jaw drop. "_That's_ where you went after the funeral? Looking for Kane? Dad, you told me you just needed time to be alone!"

Rey sighed, his jaw clenched. "I _had _to, Remus. It was _Diana_..."

Remus was all but gasping for breath. "Why didn't you _tell_ me? I would have come with you, I would have _helped_..."

"_No_." Reynard's voice was steel. "Things were finally starting to go right for you. The Wolfsbane potion was working at last, Albus had offered you the job at Hogwarts; how I could I spoil it for you when your life was finally coming together? Besides, I wondered then and I still wonder now – what if Kane still wanted to kill you or even _turn_ you? He'd view you as a challenge in either case, I know he would. I couldn't let him get near you, for either reason..."

"Dad." Remus reached forward and laid a hand across his father's arm, ignoring the chill that ran the length of his spine as Kane's words in the alley tumbled through the chaos in his mind. "Trust me. I have no intention of letting him do either. And you've talked about your losing me but what about me losing you? He would have _killed_ you if you'd found him..."

"I know." Reynard met his son's eyes at last. "But at the time, that option didn't seem so bad..."

Firmly, Remus drew his father into another hug. "That's enough of that," he ordered sternly. "I expect to have many more years in which to tease you, understand?"

He felt his father smile against his shoulder. "If you must."

"I must." Remus eased out of the embrace and risked a smile. "It'll be all right, dad. And you don't need to worry about me." Gingerly he rubbed his throat. "Hard as it may be to believe right now, I can look after myself."

Reynard was also eying the scars of Kane's attack. "Of course you can." He gave a deep sigh and flexed his shoulders. "Well, it seems I'm all done with turning your world upside down. How about I fetch Poppy and see about some food? It must be going on for noon by now."

Remus nodded quietly. "That seems like a good idea."

Awkwardly, leaning heavily on his cane, Rey pulled himself upright once more, gingerly twitching his bad leg as he massaged his knee with his fingers.

"Stiff again," he explained with a half smile. "Bloody thing. My father used to have trouble with his knees but I doubt it was for the same reason."

At the mention of his long dead grandfather, a question sprang into Remus' mind. "Dad?"

Rey glanced down, fingertips still working his sore leg with the absence of practice. "Yes son?"

"Who was telling the truth?"

Rey frowned. "About what?"

"Kane or your father – about what happened to your sister. Who was telling the truth?"

Remus immediately regretted asking as pain spilled across his father's features.

"Honestly?" he said softly. "I don't know. Perhaps Kane really was telling the truth as Adam Isaacs had told it to him – but whether Isaacs was lying or Kane or my father, I really couldn't say. Perhaps none of them told the whole story. Perhaps they all believed the tales they told. I don't think we'll ever know."

Remus nodded thoughtfully. "Or about mum."

Rey bit his lip. "Or about Diana. We can only guess, I suppose. I'll go see Poppy about that food."

Bracing himself against the stiffness in his sore leg, Reynard Lupin turned and made his way with awkward dignity across the room towards Poppy Pomfrey's office.

His son watched him go, his mind awash with thoughts that his father would not have welcomed.

Kane had killed his mother.

He was sure of it. As sure as his father was.

He would have to take care. He would not be foolish, would not make any more silly mistakes; he was not willing to give the feral any more means by which to hurt his father through him. But Kane had bitten him, tried to turn him feral and almost destroyed his family. And now it seemed, he had been responsible for the death of the mother he had loved more than anything.

The thought made him burn and freeze as one. The thought made him furious.

He would keep his promise to his dad– he would indeed be careful. But he had to act. And thanks to Kane's slip about speaking with the barman, he knew exactly where he planned to start.

As soon as he was well enough, Remus was going back to The Howling.

**A/N**: Ah, chapter nineteen. Doesn't look much like a battleground, does it? But innocent as it seems, this chapter gave me absolute hell when I tried to write it. For well over a week I wrote, rewrote, erased, wrote again, edited, stared blankly at the screen, drank copious amounts of Ribena and ate far too much chocolate, beat my head against the desk and sobbed quietly in an effort to get this chapter onto the page. There are whole tracts of text relegated to my "cut" folder that shall thankfully never see the light of the net. Why was it so difficult? I'm honestly not sure but a few possibilities are that it was the jump back into the present after really hitting my stride in the flashbacks; at time of writing, the Olympics were on, distracting me terribly whenever I got stuck; and I got bogged down trying to write around a speech I'd written for Rey before the chapter even started – in the end I gave up on it, cut it out and only a fraction remains in the explanation for Diana's crying. But I think my major problem was Remus himself – how I had planned him to react and how he reacted when the time came to write it turned out to be two very different animals and plotting reasons, this proved a hurdle. The revelation regarding Diana's death had been on the cards for a while but I was torn as to whether or not to use it for fear of, well, _overkill_ – in the end, I had to simply because it was the only suitable catalyst I had to motive Remus enough to actually take the offensive in a way realistic to his character. It was only when these elements of the chapter clicked that I finally got a version down on paper that I felt was correctly characterised – and even then my beta expressed concern over whether Lupin men were too reserved to cry (my response was in public, yes, but not with each other and I stand by that – dear Gods, everyone needs some kind of outlet... ;) ).The reaction of Remus is perhaps then a little understated considering how many of my reviewers have expressed their anticipation as to what his reaction would be – but I feel that it is also the most in character response I have managed and that is probably what matters most of all. So I hope you all agree. :)

Well, I'm back and I had a lovely weekend! I hope you can all forgive me for missing a posting as a consequence though....;)

**Reviewer Responses:**

**superpan**: Well, given that Diana and Rey were two very practical if distressed people facing the very real possibility that their son would be a bloodthirsty monster when he woke up, I thought that they were unlikely not to have discussed the full dreadful range of what might happen, including the very worst option. Hence "we'll let him go." :) And bagsies – I thought they were international, but I guess it must be a British thing. –g- To bagsie something is to claim it as your own – if you bagsie a certain cake or a chocolate bar for example, it means you're claiming it before anyone else can take it and if they try, you point out you have first bagsies and therefore have claimed rights to it. In the same way you can also claim bagsies for a turn with something – when you have first bagsies it means you get to go or use something first. It's mostly a school-kid thing really, but I have first bagsies on Remus and I'm not afraid to fight for him! ;)

**Ija Ijevna**: Yes, as you can see, the flashback is now over. We're on to the consequences in the present...;) And thank you very much regarding Diana! I must admit I love her to bits and really, really regret the fact I've killed her off – but as I'm sure you can now see, it really was necessary to fuel this next part of the story. Thank you again! And your style is fine, BTW – heck, you speak far better English than I do any other language! :)

**Neoma**: As you can see, the flashback is now over. I shan't be covering the Marauder period in this story I'm afraid. :)

**MiniMePink, NatashaTeenTitan, TrinityDD & Jello**: Thank you all very much! :)

**BlackHorntailJunior**: I miss Diana too. :( I hope now my reasons for killing her off are a little bit clearer. See it wasn't just a whim, it was a plot necessity –sigh- Sad, but true...:(

**ArwenLumos**: As you can see above, he handled his first transformation just about as well as his parents did....:(

**Howling Wolf 22**: Like I said, if I can find time for a follow up, I will, but I simply can't make promises. But you're only just hitting half way through this fic! Don't think so far ahead! ;) And yeah, it's a shame Kane didn't just die quietly in some out of the way place. But then, I wouldn't have a story...;)

**RC Dreamer of Hope**: Oh dear, I'm sorry to hear that. :( I'm sure you'll be back on track soon though. –strikes her best inspirational pose - ;)

**trevor-bruttenholm**: I'm really proud of the parents I've given Remus. They've turned out exactly how I wanted them. :)

**abesapien**: I know, I feel so guilty about setting up the happy family idyll knowing what was to come. Ah well... That was the last of the flashbacks – the rest of the story will occur in the present. And my weekend was lovely, thank you! :)

Chapter 20 will be along on Saturday. Again, many apologies for the delay. :)


	20. The Howling Once More

_20: The Howling Once More_

The noise in The Howling was, as always, unbelievable. It amazed Remus that it had not long ago ruptured the eardrums of every person in the room.

_Well that's one more way to spot a werewolf in human form I suppose – pale, scarred and slightly deaf._

Little had changed in the three months since his last visit to this squalid basement club in Camden. The "music" was indistinguishable from before, although whether that was because it was the same or that he simply could not distinguish one set of screeching from another was debatable. Figures bounded and twisted their way around the dance-floor, pausing occasionally to lurch and slump against the bar or slouch at a wall hugging table to clutch at a companion and... Dear Gods, didn't they ever _stop_? Surely they could take that _home_...

Remus shook himself. He was not going to let himself be distracted by loose morals and even looser clothing. He was here for a _reason_.

Kane.

He knew he had been back here since that week before the August full moon. He had admitted as much. But had it simply been a flying visit to discover more about Remus or was it because he was a regular?

He had waited a frustrating week to come and find out. Poppy had kept him confined to the Hospital wing for a further three days, absolutely insistent that he needed to rest and recover far more than his body seemed to agree with. His father had lingered a day more, borrowing his son's chambers in the staff wing for the night, before reluctantly departing the following evening with a warm hug and a firmly elicited promise that his son would appear, without fail, at Winter Hollow come Christmas and that a great deal more in the way of letters would be forthcoming in the future. Remus knew that were it not for the necessity of feeding his menagerie, Reynard would have gladly stayed longer and for the first time in his life, he found himself rather resenting his father's hobby. In spite of the weight of that weekend's revelations, he was not sure that he and his father had ever felt so close.

Having finally escaped the tender mercies of the School Matron on Wednesday afternoon, he had passed a quiet evening in his chambers before resuming the teaching of his classes on Thursday. His return had been to the rather gratifying relief of his pupils, who offered a string of complaints about a variety of substitutes in one breath – Severus Snape being most notable offender, much as he'd expected – before expounding on their concern for him in the next. He had hastily reassured them all that in spite of the unfortunately vivid mass of scar tissue settling in streaks around his neck, he was perfectly fine and that he most certainly looked a great deal worse than he felt. And indeed, apart from a certain soreness and a touch of additional hoarseness to his voice by the end of the day, it was much the truth.

Harder to hide had been his general air of distraction. But he felt he had succeeded quite admirably and even if he had not, having one's throat torn out seemed reason enough to be a little out of sorts. Nobody had questioned him.

Getting away from Hogwarts when the weekend came had not been difficult – the Gryffindor – Slytherin Quidditch match had proved a magnificent distraction and a few words to Albus about collecting forgotten things from Grimmauld Place and nipping to Diagon Alley for a book had seen the headmaster wave him on his way with guilt-tugging ease. And so he had slipped out late that morning amidst the chattering crowds bedecked in scarlet, gold and emerald as they hurried towards the Quidditch pitch, strolled quickly away to the gates and apparated.

Grimmauld Place had fortunately proved deserted. A reluctant rummage upstairs had led to the uncovering of his old Howling disguise and an even more reluctant donning of it. A bottle of dark hair dye discovered in the bathroom that he suspected might belong to Hestia Jones added a little something more to his cover – if trouble did break loose that evening, the last thing he needed was to have his description recognised at the Ministry. His position at Hogwarts was far from secure and Dawlish, he knew, was suspicious of him; according to Kingsley, the Auror had been investigating his background on the quiet. To be caught or identified by the Ministry in The Howling would be more than his life was worth.

Hair dye and a leather coat weren't much of a buffer against recognition and exposure, but in the gloom of The Howling it would just have to do.

A more careful exploration of Moody's coded files exposed the Order's pilfered copy of Abraham Kane's record, hidden away with other restricted documents in a concealed cupboard known only to a well-trusted few by means of a small and private Fidelius charm. Moody, ever paranoid, had even enchanted the papers to combust on opening without the passing of a complicated set of code words and identification spells, but Remus was fortunately privy to them and gained the file after a time-consuming half-hour proving to the old Auror's system that he was allowed to be looking. There was no point in going in unprepared.

It had made grimly fascinating reading. There was little to be found that he had not learned from his father, other than the more specific details of Kane's prior exploits with Hel; two names in particular caught his eye and he resolved to speak with his father about them later. The file also included a series of unpleasant photographs of his victims, including the Bevans and one of his freshly scarred three year old self in hospital, that he decided to skip for the sake the holding down his lunch. But it helped to remind him just why it was that he had come to London this weekend, still sore and battered from his last encounter and against the unspoken wishes of his father, Albus Dumbledore, Alastor Moody and indeed pretty much everyone who cared about him in order to hunt down the feral that had made him a werewolf in the first place.

Enough was enough. Kane had to be stopped.

And so, pulling up the collar of Sirius' old leather jacket as far as he could to conceal his damaged neck, he had left the ancestral home of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black with the fall of night and apparated to Camden and The Howling.

Thus far there had been no sign of Kane. Remus was unsure if he was glad or sorry.

Weaving his way carefully through the cavorting crowds, he managed to find his way to the bar where grizzled, toothless Friedrek bustled back and forth as he plied his breathless, thirsty clientele with drinks. He shot a glance at Remus as he settled on a stool and signalled for attention.

"You ain't been in for a while," the barman commented as he rested his arms on the counter in front of his customer. At Remus' slight flicker of concerned surprise at being so well remembered, Friedrek grinned and tapped his nose.

"Never forget a face, me," he said gregariously. "Even if the hair colour changes. Besides, had a fellow asking about you a month or two back. Makes people stick in the mind, does being asked about them."

_Kane_. On impulse, Remus snatched at the given opening and prayed Kane had said nothing about _why_ he was looking. "Oh, that would be my cousin," he said casually, resting his chin against the heel of his hand as he leaned his elbow easily against the bar and smiled. "It's the worst of luck, we keep missing each other. I came in tonight hoping he'd be around. I don't suppose you've seen him lately?"

No flicker of suspicion passed over Friedrek's face – the truthful bluff, it seemed, had paid off. "Medium sized chap, tough looking? Fifties maybe? Dark curly hair, wears yellow contacts?"

_Contacts?_ Ah. So Friedrek was unaware that he had a real feral frequenting his bar. That was interesting and said a great deal about the difference between the intent and the reality of The Howling's aims.

Remus nodded. "That's him. Has he been in at all?"

Friedrek smiled toothlessly. "Drops by a couple of times a week, that one. A bit of a regular, likes to chat with the younger ones, gives them advice. He's got quite a band of followers around here."

Remus fought back a sudden chill that ran the length of his spine. Oh Merlin. Kane was _recruiting_.

He swallowed his disconcertion firmly in order to maintain his visage of casual inquiry. "That sounds about right. When did you last see him?"

Friedrek sniffed as he scooped up a collection of empty glasses from the bar and shuffled in the direction of a nearby sink. "He was last in a couple of days ago – Wednesday maybe. But he comes by a fair amount, chatting, asking questions, getting to know the area. He says he likes the ambience."

Recruiting and gathering intelligence using the gullible, desperate patrons of The Howling. Kane was a clever bastard, Remus gave him that. Was he working on Voldemort's behalf as he played on the fears of his fellow werewolves or was he simply doing it for his own perverse enjoyment? It was hard to say. But the reason did not excuse the deed.

Friedrek had moved away to serve a panting young man and Remus took the opportunity to curse under his breath. He had not intended to confess this outing to his Order colleagues unless he had been successful in his attempt to catch Kane. But this was vital new intelligence about Kane's activities. He had no choice but to admit his elicit search and face the inevitable music.

And if the music in The Howling was bad, the music of his angry friends would be a great deal worse. Albus and Alastor were going to throw _fits_ about this.

Biting his lip with frustration, Remus slipped off his stool and edged his way back towards the exit. But against the backdrop of towering, thwarted irritation, a nagging little voice whispered that this was probably the best thing. This lone expedition had been born of icy fury not the common sense for which he was usually so renowned and this way he could recruit backup for a more foolproof operation that was far more likely to see Kane Azkaban or grave-ward bound than his own anger-fuelled intentions. There was no way that Albus or Alastor or the others could leave him out of any plan – if it involved The Howling after all, he was their only way inside. No, this was for the best.

So why did he feel disappointment much akin to a blow to the stomach?

Because this was _personal_. It was his family Kane had hurt, his life he had tried to ruin, his mother he had killed. Getting the Order involved somehow felt like interference in his private matters. If he hadn't have known better, he would have almost found himself considering revenge...

But that was ridiculous. As long as Kane was punished, what did it matter how he got there? This matter was not simply about him – Kane's alliance with Voldemort and mission against Harry made it very much Order business. And since when was revenge in his character? He had never sought revenge on anyone before, at least not on his own behalf – he shuddered briefly at the echo of the night in Shrieking Shack that crossed his mind, of Wormtail's shrill and grating pleas for mercy that had almost driven him to places he had not realised he could go. Once perhaps, then. But the circumstances had been exceptional. Peter had betrayed Lily and James to the most evil force in existence.

And Kane had bitten him. He had crippled his father. And he had probably killed his mother.

That was pretty exceptional.

Dear Gods. What was Kane doing to him?

Remus sighed. He needed to get out of here.

He reached for the door and closed his hand upon the handle.

And froze at the rush of ice that slithered down his back, at the sudden pounding of his heartbeat, the shiver that coursed through his limbs and the sharp stabbing pain that traced the long ago puncture of wolfish teeth. He knew the feeling instantly.

Kane.

Kane was _here._

Indecision raged through his mind. He was here. Somewhere nearby, right here, right now. Somewhere in the heaving crowds of The Howling, the feral was lurking. This could be his big chance, if he could just catch him by surprise...

But how could it be surprise? If he could feel Kane, that surely meant Kane could feel him...

He was in danger. Kane would come looking – undoubtedly already was. The wisest move would be to get out, get backup and get back as fast as he could. Personal was not worth getting killed over.

He swept a last reluctant gaze around the room. But the feral was nowhere in sight. With a grimace of frustration, Remus reached out and yanked open the door.

And came face to face with Abraham Kane.

It was hard to tell who was the most surprised. But in terms of recovery from the shock, it was, unfortunately for Remus, no contest.

This time he did not even have time to reach for his wand. Kane's fast blow sent him flying through the air, sprawling backwards onto the dance floor, scattering the shocked dancers like frightened birds as the darted out of his flight-path. The wooden planking jarred against him with unpleasant force, sending shockwaves of pain up his shoulder and hip. He scrambled to regain his footing and his lost momentum, one hand diving into his coat for his wand but a spread of claws thrust less than an inch from his face stayed his movements instantly. Once more he found himself gazing down the wrong end of Kane's natural weapons.

"Hands away," he ordered coldly. "Where I can see them."

Remus hesitated, still on his knees. His wand was so close. _One quick grab..._

The backhand blow flung him back against the floor to the gasps of their stunned audience. He sniffed and coughed as a trickle of blood escaped his nose and dripped onto the planking as he pulled himself painfully off the ground.

Kane's voice echoed like ice from above. "Next time, do as you're _told_."

"Hey now see here!" Friedrek the barman had emerged from behind the counter, one hand grasped firmly and defensively around a sturdy iron bar as he strode bandy-legged towards the trouble. "A place of freedom this may be, but rules are rules! I won't have no fighting here..."

Kane extended a claw hand sharply in Friedrek's direction – the stocky barman's eyes widened to saucer sized as he realised just what he was facing and stumbled rapidly back out of range. Kane's expression was cold and threatening as he pinned the barman against the counter with nothing but his eyes.

"This is _family_ business, old man. You and the rest of this mangy rabble can stay out of it or face the consequences."

The mangy rabble did not appear to have any intention of getting involved. Those nearest the door had fled already. The rest, facing the realisation of the very desire they claimed to have come here to indulge, shrank back with sudden fear.

_Now they see the truth of embracing the wolf. Maybe they'll learn a lesson from this. There's nothing more dangerous than getting what you want_.

Remus half-pulled himself up only to find himself facing the sharp end of Kane's handful of claws yet again. The feral's golden eyes gleamed as they fixed upon the partly exposed scars that shrieked raw on the neck of his half-prostrate cousin and erstwhile victim.

"Oh dear," he drawled with a smirk against the sudden, shocking and absolute silence that had fallen over The Howling. Even the music had stopped. "Did I make a mess of you, boy?"

_Don't panic. Don't show you're afraid._

Remus returned the glare inch for inch, his eyes narrowed coldly as he beheld the man who had savaged him in childhood and gifted him with monthly torture.

"It's not as though it's the first time," he retorted softly. "Is it _Abel_?"

For a moment, fury flashed in Kane's eyes at the mention of his hated birth name – Remus was certain for an instant that his face would be torn apart for his impertinence. But the surge of rage ebbed abruptly and suddenly a slow smile crept across Kane's features.

"Well, well," he murmured. "Has daddy finally confessed all?"

Remus risked straightening himself as he pulled his body into a sitting position; around him he could see a cluster of wide eyes and shocked faces as they beheld the true face of the waiting wolf. "He told me what happened. What you did to me and wanted to do."

The feral snorted. "Or _his _version of it I'm sure."

Remus' lip twisted. "I'm more inclined to believe him than you."

Kane chuckled as he ran his tongue across his sharpened teeth. "Of course you are. Do what daddy tells you. It must be a genetic weakness in your little line."

Remus raised an eyebrow incredulously. "You bit me as a child, you attacked my family and you all but tore out my throat last weekend. Forgive me for doubting your credibility."

To his astonishment, Kane actually laughed. "You know, I could almost get to like you. You've got more spirit than that pathetic father of yours. It's a shame he had to develop a backbone in time to snatch you from my evil clutches. We would have worked well together, you and I. A pack to strike terror into the hearts of men."

He paused suddenly, thoughtfully and fixed Remus eerily with his wild stare. "That offer is still open, you know. In spite of what your parents named you, you needn't be a victim all your life. No more weakness. No more pretence. No more watching your body age too fast and waste away in a fruitless battle to hold back the inevitable. Be strong. Taste the power. Become who you _really_ are."

The tail of his words echoed against the silence, shivering over the sea of faces that ringed the dance floor. They were words that The Howling supposedly embodied. But they sounded very different in the mouth of a man with golden eyes and claws sprouting from his fingers.

Remus held his gaze with cold determination. "I _am _who I really am," he whispered, but his voice was lined with steel. "And I intend to _stay_ that way."

Kane gave a half-shrug. "Then you're a fool."

Remus pulled himself up into a half-kneel as he maintained his stare. "I'd sooner be a fool than a murderer."

Kane's smirk returned with a vengeance as he flexed his fingers comfortably in front of his cousin's face. "Is that word supposed to bother me?"

Remus fought down a flare of fury. "It bothers most people."

The feral gave a dry chuckle. "Most people are, I'm sure you'll agree, idiots. Besides, I'm not a murderer. I'm a _predator_. There's a difference."

"Yes there is a difference." Remus held the cold gaze, shivering unseen at the depths of madness and vicious insanity that lay within his wolfish glare. "Predators hunt and kill for food or territory. You kill for fun and because you can. You kill to hurt. That is called being a murderer."

Kane cocked his head, wolf-like, for a moment as he regarded the younger man knelt before him. Something unpleasant and calculating glinted in his eyes.

"He told you." The words were a gravelled hush, lips curled slightly in amusement. "About my Parisian encounter with darling _mother_."

_It's true_. Ice and fire mingled painfully to shoot in waves through his stomach and mind at the thought of his mother's last moments, facing this monstrous apparition that had tried to rip her family apart and had now come for her life. She must have been terrified.

The thought filled him with horror, but that horror burned along its edges with a fury, a fury that threatened to ignite within him with catastrophic force. He remembered his mother's smile, her laugh, her silly jokes, her spontaneous affection and frequent fussing over his health. And this _thing_ before him had taken that away for no other reason but spite.

He had never felt an anger like it, volcano-hot and bubbling against the pressure with which he desperately kept it contained. It was all he could do not to explode with the force.

And Kane was _smiling_.

"I have to admit I misjudged your father." The smile was burning like a match over the fuse of Remus' anger. "I never thought he'd tell you about _that_. Did he tell you he tried to hunt me down? A weak old man stumbling along, unable to walk without a cane to guide him and he came after me. And I knew he would. I saw him many times in those weeks he came looking – I kept a careful eye open. My first thought was simply to kill him and put an end to it." The ignition smile spread to a grin, burning white hot. "But then I realised that that was what he wanted. That was the _easy_ way out. His suffering was so much fun to watch, I felt it better to let it continue than provide the release of death. I let him live and revelled in his pain."

The fuse was burning. And Remus was losing the will to try and snuff it out.

"I always regretted I couldn't give dear Diana a better send off." Kane was musing thoughtfully but his nasty smile was unconcealed. "I would have gladly done so if we hadn't been interrupted."

He paused for a moment, drinking in the contorted fury of his cousin's face as he struggled to hold back his uncharacteristic burst of temper. "The look on her face – I treasure it. Such fear, such loathing, such terror –_glorious_. I had planned to draw it out rather more than I was able to, make it a death more worthy, more what I originally intended – a fine mess like I left of the Bevans. But alas there was a knock at the door and of course she had to be brave and start shouting so in the end I had to settle for a quick shove out the window and a leap across to the balcony and away. I suppose it was my luck that it was dark and the maid did not speak good enough English to hear her incriminate me with her shouts. But I took a moment, just a moment, to watch her fall, to watch the way she crumpled when she hit the ground, the way the blood spread. Such sweet moments should be savoured, wouldn't you say?"

_Mum_.

He wanted Kane dead. In pieces. Scattered on the floor. Preferably over as wide a radius as possible.

The image was all consuming. The need to make it a reality was all but overwhelming him.

Pain. He needed Kane to be in pain. His fingertips itched at the thought of it.

And then the feral leant forwards, lips curled back in a vicious smile, eyes alight with vindictive pleasure. "And then I took a moment more. She was alive, you see, when she first landed. And so I came to the ground to wait in the shadows and then, so slowly, do you know what happened?" His eyes gleamed with sheer maliciousness. "I stood and _watched her die_."

Ignition.

Remus exploded forwards, driven by the force of a rage unlike any he had ever known, a fury that set fire to his heart and mind and rippled through his very bones. All thoughts of restraint, of control, of magic, of anything other than ripping the feral apart with his bare hands were abandoned as he swatted Kane's outstretched claws aside and slammed into the gloating face, thrusting him backwards to hurl him flat against the nearby wall with no thought in his mind other than to pummel him until he had no blood left to bleed with. His eyes burned as he drew his hand back to strike.

And stopped, with a sudden rush of dousing cold as he realised that Kane was _still_ smiling.

"Now that's more like it." Kane's voice was a low drawl, malicious and satisfied. "I knew you had it in you."

Horror flooded over the anger, forcing it away with the sheer chill of shock. Dear Gods, what was he doing? He'd allowed himself to be overwhelmed by an anger he had not known he had possessed. But now he knew; the source of anger he'd tapped into did not belong to him at all.

It was the _wolf_.

And Kane knew it.

He'd been manipulated. And it hadn't taken much.

Oh _Merlin_. Was he really that easy to turn?

With speed akin to an electric shock, he snapped his hands away from Abraham Kane and stumbled back. Kane laughed, still leaning against the wall that he had been slammed against moments before as he brushed the front of his tunic with lazy ease. His golden eyes never wavered from the shocked and horrified face of his younger cousin.

"Welcome to my world," he said softly. "I think you'll like it."

Remus collided painfully with a table, too caught up in his frantic unseeing retreat from the feral's smile. With a thud, he tumbled to the ground.

Slumped on the floor, stunned, he thought for a moment that he had imagined the sudden crash of the door as it was flung violently open, the horrified cries that rose into a sudden crescendo, the stampede of feet. But then a sharp voice penetrated his consciousness, echoing across the chamber and announcing emphatically that the only thing that could have made his evening any worse had just happened.

"Nobody move! This is a Ministry raid! Get away from the walls and keep your hands where we can see them!"

**A/N**: Ah, evil cliffie number three. Welcome aboard....;)

**Reviewer responses:**

**Howling Wolf 22**: As I said, I had trouble getting Remus' reaction right. But as long as he keeps in character it's all good. Oh and if I keep to this posting schedule, this fic should keep you occupied for about another ten weeks...;)

**superpan:** As you can, the kicking of Kane's arse has encountered a small technical hitch. Sorry...;)

**MiniMePink, Jello & TrinityDD**: Thank you very much! :)

**Ija Ijevna**: I'm glad Remus' reaction worked for you. I really did have terrible trouble getting it right. What happened with Diana has indeed been expanded upon as you can see. :( And Kane – though he is undoubtably the villain of the piece, those shades of grey will continue to linger. ;)

**trevor-bruttenholm & ArwenLumos**: I don't know how I keep him in character. Blood, sweat and tears, if the last chapter was anything to go by...;) And as you can see, butt-kicking and head chewing has hit a small problem...;)

**NatashaTeenTitan**: Thank you very much, that's incredibly flattering! And your fic is good! :)

**Neoma**: You may hit Kane with a smelly tuna if you so desire. But be warned, it may hack him off....;)

**JennyJoy4**: Welcome aboard and thank you very much indeed! Keeping to canon is one of my fic watchwords, so I'm very glad you think that I seem to be doing okay. :) Thanks again. :)


	21. Caught Out

_21: Caught Out_

Oh Bloody Hell. He was doomed.

Half crouched beside a table on his knees in the heavy anonymous gloom of The Howling, lost behind a sudden roar of horrified and indignant cries and the rushing footsteps of the suddenly energised crowd, Remus could not see exactly what was taking place. But he had instantly recognised the strident voice as the Auror squad had burst through the wards and wooden door of The Howling as they sought to bring the werewolf pack to bay.

Dawlish.

Dawlish, who suspected him of colluding with Kane. Dawlish who, so Kingsley had warned him, was quietly investigating his background. Dawlish who, it seemed, was absolutely determined to catch him on some charge that would end his career and possibly his freedom.

And now here he was in an infamous underground werewolf club, the same club in fact that Abraham Kane was currently frequenting, known to the barman as the feral's cousin and just recovering from a very public spell of temper that had bordered on a feral incident.

He might as well of handed Dawlish his freedom on a silver platter, garnished with any hope of respect. The Auror was going to throw away the key.

A Hogwarts teacher in The Howling. If he was lucky, he would lose his job and any chance of any kind of employment in the future. But if Dawlish happened to be in a book-hurling mood, he would most likely be spending the rest of his days in Azkaban for collaborating with Voldemort's feral werewolf.

All things considered, this excursion no longer seemed like such a bright idea.

Remus probably would have carried the thought further had all hell not then broken loose before him. The Aurors had seen Kane.

Indeed, as the lead Auror was hurled into the air to slam into the far wall and slump bloodied and stunned to the floor, he was rather hard to miss.

For a moment, the collection of Magical law-enforcers that had half-forced their way through the doorway froze like rabbits facing down a Hungarian Horntail.

Oh dear.

Two feet slammed violently into the chin of the nearest Ministry worker, catapulting him backwards with a cry of pain. With shocking ease, Kane somersaulted the prostrate figure, dodging the swipe of a female Auror casually as his claws sliced open the skin of her arm with a slash. A stunning spell whipped past his head – with a sudden grin, Kane vaulted a table one handed, twisting in the air as one foot connected sharply with the offending wand grasped in the hand of Dawlish. The other foot smashed into his face and flung him to the ground.

All at once the air was a sea of spells. Remus, his wand finally in his hand, had managed to rise and half-started forward, willing to risk the censure of recognition to prevent Kane from making an impossible escape. But the lightning flashes of magic that skewed wildly in the dark interior of The Howling drove the watching werewolves into a sudden stampede as chairs toppled and bottles exploded around them; with an unceremoniously thud, Remus found himself hurled back to the floor, narrowly escaping the shocking whine as a splash of red energy cut the air where his head had been moments before and blasted a small crater in the wall.

Swearing, the professor tried to rise once more, only to tumble yet again as a less fortunate denizen of The Howling took the full force of a stunning curse and slumped heavily on top of him.

Kane was doing rather better. Evading the initial barrage with irritating smoothness, the feral snatched at and successfully grasped the nearest figure in Auror robes and wrapped a clawed hand around his throat as he lifted him, twisting the shocked body in the air to absorb the surges of magic, a _literal _human shield. His victim twitched and convulsed against the impact of his colleagues spells, slumping limp in his clasp even as the astonished Aurors instinctively saw a friend's distress and held their fire. And in that moment of hesitation, Kane struck.

A cluster of Aurors had gathered in the one and only doorway, eager to block the feral's only escape. But they tumbled like ninepins an instant later as the unconscious body of Kane's human shield hurtled through the air and struck them down.

A blur of speed, Kane leaped, digging his clawed fingers into the top of the doorframe, dragging scratches through the woods with an agonising screech. The rush of reinforcements that had surged to fill the gap were hurled from his path with the full force of his double footed blow; a moment later, he released his grip and swung away into the night.

Shoving away the large, leather-clad, motionless form that had pinned him down, Remus scrambled yet again to his feet, desperate to enter the fray. But the echoes of shouting and bellowed spells that drifted down the basement stairs through the cold night air told him fluently that it was already too late. Kane had not been caught.

So the feral had escaped. And _he_ was the one going to prison.

Irony had never tasted so bitter.

Stunned silence filled The Howling in the aftermath of Kane's escape. Groaning Aurors stumbled to their feet, grasping bleeding cuts and blossoming bruises and indeed proved the lucky ones; several did not rise at all. And it was not only Aurors who lay shocked or unconscious; a dozen or more werewolves, victims of the Auror's misfired spells, were scattered across the ground, convulsing violently or failing to move at all. Tables had been shattered, chairs overturned, bottles and glasses destroyed by badly aimed magic and the fall of the bodies it had claimed. The door, already battered by the Aurors forced entry, stood smoking off its hinges, several large chunks scraped from its frame in the wake of Kane's athletic bound for freedom. A further mound of sore and limp bodies were heaped across the threshold. Around the perimeter of the room and tucked against its darkened corners and crevices, the remaining werewolves clustered, their eyes wide at the disaster scene that had moments before been their so-called haven.

And staggering to his feet, mussed, battered and bleeding from the nose, Auror Dawlish snatched up his fallen wand from the dance floor and swept his gaze across the room with murder in his eyes.

Remus ducked his head instinctively and prayed the shadows would conceal his face. He knew even as he did so that he was merely delaying the inevitable.

Dawlish's voice rampaged across the shocked silence. "The next one of you that moves I will _personally_ escort to Azkaban! Now you will line up and you will wait until a member of my team comes to question you. If you are good little werewolves, you'll get nothing worse than a night in the holding cells and a slap on the wrist! But if you refuse to answer our questions, if you try and lie to us, or you give any kind of trouble, you'll be greeting the Dementors or the great beyond come sunrise! Am I making myself _clear?_"

A small grumble of assertion rippled grudging through the werewolves. Dawlish had made himself very clear, but he was not about to win any popularity contests.

A younger Auror, the pinkness of his face implying he would have a fine black eye and swollen cheekbone come the morning had approached Dawlish from behind, his expression anxious. The fierce gaze with which he was then pinned by his boss did not appear to do much for his mood.

"Sir," he said softly. "I've done a quick count and there are too many of them. We haven't the facilities to question so many at once. If we try and interview them all back at headquarters, we'll be at it for days. And since the new legislation failed without Madam Umbridge, we can't question them more than a day without offering bail. They have to be processed tonight…"

He tailed off, sensing the danger as Dawlish's battered face rapidly darkened, shutting up prudently under the sharp stare. For a moment, the older Auror took a moment to mutter to himself about too many filthy werewolves lurking about on his watch before he glanced around and made a snap decision.

"Then we'll interview them here. There are tables enough left in tact. Question them one by one in those alcoves and then take them outside and Portkey them to the cells as planned. Get every non-injured operative in here and set it up. Now."

The younger man nodded at once and vanished as Dawlish turned back to survey the scattered werewolves before him.

"Right." Dawlish was frowning grimly. "I want the owner of this dive out the front. The rest of you will get the hell away from the walls, and wait on the dance floor. My people will ask you a few questions and then you will be offered our hospitality for the night. Acceptance is _compulsory_." His lip twisted. "Well? _Move!_"

Amidst much grumbling and shuffling of feet, the recalcitrant customers of The Howling reluctantly obeyed. Huddled in with the masses, Remus allowed himself to be shepherded into the cluster, thinking sardonic thoughts about Dawlish giving lessons in charm. It would take nothing short of a miracle to see him escape from this mess unscathed. Even if he somehow managed to get an Auror from amongst the Ministry's most carefully trained observers who wouldn't recognise his face from the paper, even if he managed to lie his way through an interview and give a false name, Dawlish, his grasp firm around the arm of Friedrek as he dragged him from the crowd, had set up his table right beside the exit. He would surely be seen and recognised as he was escorted to the Portkey and the cells.

Gazing at the ceiling and trying not to breath through his nose from his unenviable position amidst a large pack of sweat-soaked figures clad in leather, Remus sighed wearily. Well, this was it. The end of his career. The end of any hope of another one, any hope of a normal life at all. Most likely the end of his freedom. Possibly even the end of his position of trust in the Order. Perhaps even the end of his friends respect.

And he had broken his promise to his father. His disappointment would hurt most of all.

_Nice going, Remus. A fine evening's work_.

Abandon hope all ye who enter here. A fine sign for the door of The Howling, if it was ever fixed. Or possibly, the story of his life.

He had nothing again. No future, no job, possibly no friends or family, no prospects, no dignity and certainly no…

Hope.

A single glorious ray of _hope_.

Remus' breath caught in his throat. His gaze had fixed upon a bobbing mass of raspberry coloured spikes approaching the group of werewolves with reluctant unwillingness, heart-shaped face crinkled against the overwhelming odour and Auror robes askew.

_Tonks!_

What she was doing on this mission, Remus did not know and frankly did not care. But she was an ally in a sea of enemies and right now he needed all the help he could get.

She had come to collect a werewolf for interview. All he had to do was ensure that werewolf was _him_. The rest they could work out later.

Twisting quickly through the crowd and ignoring the sullen mumblings of protest, he ducked around a particularly hefty figure and forced himself into her line of sight.

For a moment he feared the gloom of The Howling and his dyed hair would conceal his identity in the one crucial moment he _needed_ to be recognised. But then her eyes caught upon him and widened with sudden shock as she registered his features and realised in a rush the precariousness of his situation.

Abruptly her face hardened. "Make gestures at me, will you?" she exclaimed sharply, shouldering her diminutive frame harshly into the reeking mass as her hand slapped round his wrist decisively. "Well, we'll see about that!"

With a rough tug, Remus felt himself hauled free of the crowd. With one hand fixed firmly around his arm and the other shoving hard again his back, the werewolf found himself being unceremoniously bundled into an alcove and deposited none too gently on a battered stool retrieved from the bar. Her expression steely, Tonks dropped down into the chair on the opposite side, brandishing a notebook in one hand and her wand in the other.

Remus opened his mouth to speak his gratitude when he saw Tonks' eyes flash over his shoulder with an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Sharply, he stifled his words as a shadow loomed behind him.

"You all right there, Tonks?" This Auror was reasonably undamaged, young, male and ever so slightly cocky in his manner. He beamed generously down at the raspberry-haired Metamorphmagus as he slapped a clammy hand down on Remus' shoulder and squeezed with unnecessary force. "If he's giving you trouble, I'll be happy to take him off your hands..."

Tonks interrupted with a smile that was slightly less than sincere around the edges. "Thanks Rowley, but I think I can cope. Unless _you _need _my _help of course, with these werewolves being so scary and all. I'll be happy to tell Dawlish about how I held your hand all through the interview and cleared up the patch where you'd wet yourself…"

Rowley's smile wilted slightly. With a last half-hearted flash of teeth, he turned and moved away.

Remus fought not to grin. "So that was the legendary Rowley," he muttered softly. "King of the raging pillocks."

Tonks grimaced. "Honest to God, I swear he thinks all women were put on this earth for the sole purpose of giving him late night exercise. If he tries it on with me one more time, I'm going to coat him in ferrets and feed him to Buckbeak." But then her gaze fixed upon him with the fire and force of a ballistic dragon as she grasped her notepad sharply and lowered her voice to a hiss. "But he's not the only raging pillock around today. Remus, what the _hell _are you doing here?"

At his awkward silence, her eyes drifted to his neck, the scars fortunately hidden by the shadows, and drew her own conclusions. "_Please_ don't tell me you came looking for Kane by yourself."

Remus twisted his lip slightly. In the cold aftermath of his angry confrontation, his emotions were shaky and he was certainly in no mood to offer a full explanation for his actions. "All right. I won't."

Tonks huffed in exasperation. "Don't be so bloody contrary. This is serious! If Dawlish sees you here…"

Remus pulled a face, busy enough fighting the chilling rush of his own immense stupidity without having it pointed out by his friend. "Believe me, the thought has crossed my mind."

"Then what in Merlin's name were you thinking?" But Tonks it seemed was not prepared to let this go. "Is this about last weekend? Remus, no offence, but you've never struck me as the vengeful type, so why…?"

Remus stared awkwardly at the table, aware on the peripheries of his vision of the huddle of werewolves being dragged around for questioning, of the Aurors lurking in the gloom. This was not the place to go into his bite and his family history.

"It's personal," he managed, biting his lip as he met her gaze almost pleadingly. "I have my reasons and Albus knows what they are, even if he doesn't know I'm _here_. Please don't ask, okay?"

Tonks sighed, her eyes thoughtful but also vaguely accusatory. "Kane said something else, didn't he? When you two were alone in that alley. Something you didn't tell me."

Remus did not speak. He simply nodded.

"Do Dumbledore or Mad-Eye know about this?"

"They know." He sighed wearily, burdened by the sudden weight of an over heavy past. "But I don't think they know that I know. They were aware of it before I was."

She rolled her eyes. "More secrets. Oh great. Are you sure you trust Kane to be telling the truth about this mysterious whatever? He's not exactly a paragon of honesty and he does like to stir."

"I wish." Remus rubbed a weary hand across his brow, ignoring the dark streak of badly applied hair dye across his fingers. "I didn't get the facts from Kane. I got them from someone I'd trust with my life." He smiled bitterly. "Kane was just kind enough to point me in the right direction."

"And then you came to find him here." Tonks' gaze slipped to the trail of devastation that had marked Kane's escape. "Let me guess. You're the reason he was so hacked off."

Remus grimaced. "Admittedly, I may have contributed."

The young Auror's face fell – for the first time she spotted the smear of blood on her companion's nose. "Someone said there was a fight. _Tell_ me you weren't fighting with Abraham Kane."

Rather self-consciously, Remus wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Again, I won't, if that's what you want. I'd be lying though."

"Oh _god_." Raspberry spikes slumped into a weary hand. "Mad-Eye is going to spit _fire _when he finds out about this. Fighting with a feral! Remus, what on earth possessed you?"

_My wolf. Or near enough_. With a shudder, Remus forced back the thought, the horrifying closeness and ease with which Kane had tapped into his greatest fear and played with his emotions. He couldn't afford to dwell on that now.

At his lack of answer, Tonks rolled her eyes and resignedly examined the ceiling.

"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter now," she muttered, dropping her eyes as she glanced over to the entrance. Dawlish, his examination of Friedrek complete, was checking the face and hands of every werewolf that passed. "What matters now is how the hell we're going to get you out of here without both of us being fired or arrested."

Remus gave a wry and weary smile. "I haven't a clue. But all suggestions will be gratefully accepted."

And then, a sudden grin slipped over Tonks' face, the kind of grin that Remus recognised as a genetic trait of the Black family line, a grin in fact that had led to more detentions than he had ever cared to count. An ominous feeling welled up within.

"All suggestions, eh?" The Auror's lips were curling with alarming mirth. "In that case, I might just have an idea."

**A/N:** Apologies for this post being a day late but when I tried to post it yesterday, the site refused to let me. Hopefully this will all be all right now. :)

**Reviewer Responses: **

**MiniMePink & TrinityDD**: Thank you. :) As you can see, getting away will be assisted but not entirely straightforward. ;)

**Neoma**: Quite a tuna dilemma there. ;) Be sure and be careful though – remember Kane has taken out whole Auror squads in his day….;) As for Remus – it wasn't a full on feral incident since he pulled himself back in time – just a very close run thing. The claws and teeth only appear when one turns feral permanently, but the eyes – well, it's entirely possible that his eyes may have flickered a bit for a moment, given how close he came. As for what will become of him – wait and see…;)

**Howling Wolf 22**: So do I take it you hate Kane a bit then? ;) I think Remus knew he was being played to some degree and didn't want to give in – unfortunately emotion overcame self-control in the end. :( And as you can see, he at least isn't alone in this anymore…;)

**Kireina1**: Oopsie. I'm sorry to have dented your social life and for a cliffie! But thank you for your commitment! :)I am writing a real book, BTW but it's quite a way off being ready to inflict upon a publisher…:)

**superpan**: Thanks, I'm really glad you said all that, both about the feral moment and about Remus and Rey because that's just where I was coming from when I wrote it. :) And I suppose since you're being so nice, I might be willing to lease Remus to you. How does every other Tuesday afternoon sound? ;)

**Jello**: He is indeed. –veg- And thank you very much – I like being refreshing…;)

**ArwenLumos**: Well, technically, an Auror _has_ got him. But not in a bad way so far, luckily…;)

**BlackHorntailJunior**: I really _truly_ am sorry about Diana. By the time I realised how fond I was of her, her death was unchangeable –sigh- But blaming Kane is good. He earned it. ;) Glad you're enjoying it. :)

**trevor-bruttenholm**: Here you go then. Not out of the woods yet, but certainly into a small clearing…;)

**Ija Ijevna**: I think a talking to from senior Order members is pretty much inevitable for Remus now however this turns out, poor darling. :( Kane's influence on Remus is partly that Kane is an expert at pushing people's buttons and partly that the two are so unwillingly but inevitably bound together. I suppose you could almost see them as two sides of a coin – two children of similar blood but very different upbringings dealing with the same curse in utterly different ways. Kane is what Remus could have been without Rey, Diana and the Marauders. Scary, huh? ;) And I hope you feel better soon! I've only recently fought off a nasty flu myself so I can sympathise. :)

**KnightMara**: Thank you very much indeed! :) What nice comments…;) In regards to original works – I am writing a fantasy novel with hopes to publish some day but I hit a bit of a wall with it a while back and started this fic to revitalise my writing, I guess. I didn't know it would end up so long! And Kane is great, isn't he? I'm seriously considering adapting his character for use in said novel, as it happens. :) Thank you again! :)

Thank you all for reviewing. :)


	22. The Great Escape

**A/N**: Up until quite recently, this chapter was fairly dull. There, Chriss, I admitted it! ;) It wasn't so much by intent as lack of inspiration – I simply could not think of a decent plan of escape and thus settled for a rather uneventful one. But thanks to the well-meaning and ultimately justified badgering of my beta, I finally had an idea and inserted a large section into the middle of the chapter to liven things up a bit. It was generously beta-ed from a cruise liner somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean. -g- And so a big lump of the thanks for this chapter must be directed to Chriss Corkscrew. Thank you Chriss! :)

_22: The Great Escape_

"Don't you _dare_."

"Now, Remus I have to put some kind of name down. I don't see what is so wrong with…"

"No..."

"Romulus…"

"_No._"

"…Moony…"

"_Tonks_!"

"There!" Tonks grinned cheekily at the glowering werewolf across the table as she tapped her quill on the pad. "Too late, Mr Moony. I've written it now."

Remus unleashed a half-muffled sigh as he buried his face into the cupped shelter of his hands. "You're punishing me, aren't you?"

Tonks' chuckle was alarming. "Well maybe this will teach you not to go hanging around in werewolf fetish clubs on your weekend off, _professor_. Besides, this is the second time in a week that I've been forced to forge an official document on your behalf. A little suffering as compensation for the risks I take is the least you can do."

Remus raised his face from its secure hideaway, brow creased with sudden concern. "Tonks, talking of risks, are you sure about this? There are so many things that could go wrong…"

The Auror gave a deliberately offhand shrug that immediately told Remus that she was far more nervous about her tricky plan than she pretended. "I don't have any better ideas, do you? They've done a headcount – there's no sneaking you out. You need to be seen to be inspected without actually being inspected or we're sunk. I can only think of one way to do that. Come on. Let's do this before I change my mind."

Rising to his feet, Remus pulled up the hood of the transfigured drape that was doubling as his cloak and allowed himself to be hauled unceremoniously out of the alcove by Tonks. Shadowed in his newfound cowl, Remus nonetheless could not shake the uncomfortable sense of eyes burning into him as the young Auror led him out of the gloomy darkness towards the ball of light that now hovered near the door.

Dawlish, his nose still bloody, had not moved from his position by the exit. As an Auror approached, a sullen werewolf firm in his grasp, the Senior Auror snatched at one of his hands, turning it over in his grip as he examined the fingertips minutely. Then, with a rough hand, he grasped the werewolf's chin, forcing the mouth open to expose the teeth and hauling down his eyelids to inspect the colour of his eyes by the makeshift magic light. Satisfied, he released the werewolf with a huff and sent the Auror and his prisoner on their way.

Remus and Tonks exchanged a glance. Neither bothered to conceal their nervousness now. Gritting her teeth, Tonks nodded. It was time.

"Hey! Rowley!"

The officially designated King of the raging pillocks glanced up from the alcove in which he had been skulking in order to avoid the necessity of doing any interviews, his face filled with anxious distaste as the Auror and the werewolf approached him. Tonks smiled at him with absolute insincerity.

"Rowley, mate, look after my werewolf for a moment, will you?" With a rough shove, Remus was thrust into Rowley's unwilling grasp. "I need to talk to Dawlish. You know, because I'm doing actual work instead of hiding?"

Rowley flushed, shuffling back a little from his newfound charge. "Hey, now look…"

But Tonks was already gone, sweeping past the few steps to where Dawlish was stood glowering. His eyes narrowed at Tonks' arrival – after a few moments of hushed conversation, he nodded at her and turned to the room at large.

"I'm stepping out," he declared abruptly, wiping his still dribbling nose rather unpleasantly on the hankie his assistant had provided. "Nobody takes any werewolves up to the Portkeys until I'm back to check them. Okay?"

There was a murmur of assent from the alcoves. With a nod, Dawlish and Tonks moved out through the doorway and vanished up the basement steps.

Remus released the breath he had unconsciously been holding. The first hurdle had been successfully vaulted. Now he just had to wait…

To his left, Rowley was regarding him with the utmost dislike. His clasp on his arm was barely a fingertip brush, as though to touch a werewolf any way other than peripherally would pass the dread infection on to him. His nose was screwed up with disdain.

"I suppose you think you're so _tough_." The words were a sneer, though the sneering of Rowley somehow lacked the style and deadly accuracy of one such as Severus Snape. Remus fought not to grin. It was possible even to give sneering a bad name. Rowley continued determinedly. "But I've got your number. You just like to play the hard man. You're no match for _me_."

Remus maintained his silence, rather amused at the idea of playing the hard man; of all the things he'd been accused of in his lifetime that was certainly a first. Glancing at Rowley, he quickly took his measure – sweating, insecure and nervous, waiting for a defiant response that could be used as an excuse to vent his frustration. Just as politeness could thwart the barbs of Snape, it occurred to Remus that simply maintaining his unnerving silence would be enough to rattle Rowley. The slight twitch of the Auror's left eyebrow at his lack of retort implied his assumption was correct.

He desperately fought to resist the urge to bare his teeth. That would be _childish_…

Rowley's jaw was hardening belligerently. His fingers flexed with distasteful uncertainty. His composure was slipping.

_Oh Hell. Tonks, just hurry up…_

And then, silhouetted in the doorway, handkerchief still clasped around his nose, Dawlish reappeared. His narrowed eyes fixed upon Remus at once. His features grim, he turned sharply and strode determinedly over.

Remus felt his stomach turn under the intensive gaze, fighting a terrible plunging fear that something had gone badly wrong. _Oh Merlin no, please…Tonks!_

A harsh hand snatched at his wrist; with a sharp tug, he was dragged over to the light, Rowley lingering with irritating good humour a few yards away. His fingers were examined roughly, pulled and tugged before being thrust back sharply. He felt his chin clasped in a vice like grip.

And Dawlish hesitated. His eyes drifted to Rowley's intense and interested gaze.

"What are you looking at?" The Auror's voice was muffled and odd sounding under the hankie that cloaked his wounded nose. "Get back to work!"

Rowley started sharply. With a flash of horror at the reprimand, he vanished abruptly into the gloom.

Dawlish watched him go. And then, turning back to Remus, he _winked._

Relief flooded Remus' heart. _Yes!_

After a perfunctory glance at his face, "Dawlish" took a hold of his arm once more and firmly turned to escort him outside.

And came face to face with Dawlish's officious young assistant.

The young man, his dark hair mussed, his face now swollen to unpleasant proportions stared at what appeared to be his commanding officer and blinked.

"Sir?" he said, his face a mask of bewilderment. "I thought you went down the street to investigate that tip off from Tonks about the cellar."

"Dawlish" halted abruptly, his grip on the arm of his prisoner tightening slightly with a hint of anxiety. Out of the corner of his eye, Remus caught sight of Rowley, moving forward a few steps to eavesdrop surreptitiously and effectively sealing off their retreat.

They were trapped.

Scrunching the hankie determinedly around his nose, "Dawlish" met the gaze of the young Auror with steely coolness.

"I needed _him _to show me where it is, Sparrow," he stated brusquely, his voice still muffled and odd-sounding beneath the heavily grasped material. "Now if you'd care to move out of my way…"

"But sir…" Unfortunately Sparrow, it seemed, was not one of that breed of Aurors who routinely followed his orders without question. "Out in the street with a werewolf alone, and the feral Kane still on the loose… Are you sure that's wise? I mean…"

"Are you questioning my orders, Sparrow?" "Dawlish" cut him off with a high-pitched snap of words. "Are you _looking _for a disciplinary hearing?"

There was a pause. Sparrow's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Sir." Remus did not like the suspicious inflection in the man's tone. "Are you feeling all right? Your voice…"

_Oh no_. Remus dropped his gaze abruptly and shrank back in the shadow of his hood as the Auror's eyes also flicked dubiously in his direction. A worrying hint of recognition flashed behind his stare as he glanced uncertainly towards the door behind him, his fingers twitching wand-wards

This plan was merrily winding its way towards Hell in a brightly coloured and highly decorated hand-basket.

What was needed here was a distraction. Anything that would give them time to _think_.

A little chaos courtesy of a tightly wound royal pillock might do nicely.

Turning his head sharply, Remus fixed a glare upon the lurking Rowley and viciously snapped his teeth.

Rowley's eyes widened with bullish belligerence. "Why you stinking…"

He surged forward but the room was dark and the swing was clumsy; Remus dodged the swipe easily, dropping sharply to his knees and dragging "Dawlish" down with him as Rowley clattered fist first into the wall, tripping over his own feet as his momentum drove him forcefully against the panelling with a gasp. Sparrow took a step back, shocked and incredulous but a moment later, his composure solidified; frowning coldly, he marched forward and seized the other Auror unceremoniously by the robes, a reprimand clearly hovering on his lips.

Remus and "Dawlish" had ended up in a small heap on the floor. With an angry glare, the Auror reached forward and grabbed the werewolf firmly by the shoulders, mouth just inches from Remus' ear.

"Create a diversion." The words were a soft hiss. "I'll modify their memories."

A quick nod was all the acknowledgement that Remus had time for as he quickly palmed his wand. A moment later, he had been dragged back to his feet.

To the sound of silence.

Sparrow had ceased his reprimand. Rowley, still clutching his hand, was open-mouthed.

Both were starring with bewilderment at the rainbow-striped socks that poked rather uncharacteristically out from beneath the slightly too-short hem of their commanding officers robes.

Oops.

Time to go. Fast.

Remus raked the room hurriedly with his eyes and latched his gaze abruptly upon a large ale barrel battered but intact beside the counter of the bar. _Perfect_. Under the cover of his makeshift cloak, he aimed his wand.

"_Reducto!_"

The spell was no more than a whisper of breath. But nonetheless it proved effective.

The barrel exploded. Emphatically.

Aurors and werewolves alike leapt to their feet from all sides, cursing and swearing as liquid splattered liberally across anyone and everyone in range, wooden shrapnel sliced the air to clatter against the wall and twisted iron bindings twanged and span against the dance-floor. A hand slapped down against Remus' arm almost at once, dragging him forwards; he caught a glimpse of the absent and dreamy expressions on the faces of Sparrow and Rowley as he was hustled past in the direction of the door. A vague tang of sympathetic solidarity rushed through him, accompanied by a mild rush of guilt.

_Been there, done that, got the emotional scars. But what else could we have done?_

And then suddenly the heavy gloom of The Howling was replaced by the sharp darkness of an autumn night. The door slammed shut behind them.

They were _out_. He was _free_.

The cold night air struck Remus with a rush as he moved out onto the basement steps. He had never felt a more beautiful sensation in his life.

At his side, "Dawlish" grinned. Abruptly a ripple seemed to shiver through his body as his face melted into the shape of a heart, his short, wiry, greying hair sprouting into raspberry coloured spikes once more as Nymphadora Tonks emerged at last from her disguise.

"Well that was fun," she declared cheerfully. "If I'd have known a night out with you was so exciting, Remus, I'd have done this years ago."

Remus shot her a mock half-smile. "Oh, you know me," he commented sardonically. "Never a dull moment. Guaranteed thrills or your money back."

Tonks laughed outright. "Sarky git. Honestly, those clothes have gone to your head."

"Shame yours didn't go to your feet." Remus glanced down at his companions ankles, once more concealed as her form shrank back to normal height. "Honestly, Senior Auror Dawlish in rainbow striped socks?"

Tonks pulled a face. "Not really his style, are they? Good thing these Auror robes are generic though, or _transvestite _Dawlish would really have got their attention."

Remus chuckled softly. "Didn't you think to lengthen your robe a bit?"

"Household spells aren't really my thing." Tonks picked awkwardly at her robes with a grimace. "Last time I tried to adjust one of my cloaks, I ended up setting fire to it."

Remus grinned. "Next time, bring it to me. With my limited resources, I've become a bit of an expert at adapting what I have. Speaking of adapting," he added thoughtfully. "You must have cast those memory charms in a fair hurry. Are you sure they're going to hold?"

Tonks shrugged easily. "They'll hold long enough for me to find Kingsley tomorrow and talk him into doing the job properly. He's the expert. Once he's topped them both up, possible reprisals will no longer be a problem."

Remus frowned slightly. "What about Dawlish?"

The young Auror gave him a sideways glance. "What about him?"

"Will he need to be topped up as well?"

Wide eyes stared back at him. "You think I memory charmed my _boss_? Are you mental? I'm not afraid to take a risk, but I'm not suicidal Remus!"

Remus wrinkled his nose in confusion. "Then how _did_ you manage to get rid of Dawlish?"

Tonks shrugged again as she led the way up the steps, ignoring the muffled chaos left behind in their wake and maintaining her grip on his arm in at least a pretence of having him in custody. "I told him that my prisoner told me there was a cellar round the corner that the werewolves sometimes used as a hideaway. I suggested Kane might have ducked in there when he evaded our attacks. He went off to investigate with a couple of the others. So not only is he well out the way, we only have Spiers to negotiate to get you Portkeyed back to the cells."

Remus fought down a surge of discomfort – his internal declaration of freedom had apparently been premature. "Isn't there some way to get me out of here that doesn't involve locking me up for the night?"

Tonks sighed, her eyes sympathetic. "I'm sorry, mate. But you have to be accounted for or I'll be the one doing the accounting. In fact you'd better hand your wand over to me now. If it's still on you when we get to the cells, you'll have it confiscated."

Reluctantly, Remus withdrew his wand from its concealment beneath his coat and surrendered it with a sigh. Tonks took it carefully, and tucked it securely away with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, it won't be too bad," she told him with false cheer and a pat on the shoulder. "It's just one night. I'll be back in disguise to bail you as soon as my shift ends." She grinned suddenly. "So when your long-suffering wife Mrs Moony comes to pick you up, don't act _too_ surprised."

Remus nodded, feeling vaguely exposed without his wand as they stepped out onto the quiet street. A young man in Auror robes stood slouching a few yards away. A tin dustbin piled high with a random assortment of rubbish rested at his side.

Remus stared at the Auror. His stomach dropped as he darted back down the top steps, dragging Tonks rapidly with him. Fortunately the young man, looking decidedly bored as he gazed blankly at the sky, did not seem to notice.

Tonks was staring at her fellow Order member with resigned annoyance.

"_Now_ what?" she almost snapped.

Remus stared wearily up at the stars. "You said his name is Spiers, right?"

"Yeah, that's him. First year trainee on field assignment."

"Anton Spiers?"

Tonks' expression dropped like a stone. "You _know_ him? How can you _know_ him? He's only nineteen…"

Remus' gaze fixed upon her like steel, watching as realisation dawned across her face. With a sigh, she closed her eyes. "You taught him, didn't you?"

Remus nodded silently. He couldn't believe his bad luck.

Why could something be easy? One simple little thing? 

Tonks gritted her teeth. "Right. You stay here and keep your head down."

Remus glanced up sharply. "Where are you going?"

"To get us a Portkey."

And before Remus could even respond, she had turned and darted back up the steps.

Remus cursed. What was she…?

"Hey, Anton. How's it…Oops!"

A loud crash, the sound in fact of a tin dustbin tumbling to the ground and spilling its contents onto the pavements echoed through the quiet night.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"Tonks, it's fine, I'll get them, just leave it!"

"But it's my fault, I want to help…"

There was a second crash. Spiers' groan bounced from side to side off the brick buildings off the street. Remus grinned to himself. A reputation for clumsiness was not always a disadvantage.

"You don't have to. Really!"

"If you're sure…"

"I'm sure! I'm really sure! Thanks anyway, though."

"Okay then. I'm sorry!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know…"

Abruptly, Tonks reappeared, backing apologetically onto the steps. Fortunately, Remus managed to catch her robes before she tumbled backwards down the stairs. The reputation might have proved useful, but Tonks had earned it for a reason.

The Auror grinned as Remus helped her back to her feet. "Knew you were useful for something. But I am too. Huzzah!" With a flourish, she withdrew a cloth wrapped tin can from her robes. "Tamper-proof, unfortunately - the destination's set. It's touch sensitive though, with a five second delay, so whenever you're ready…"

Remus nodded wearily. He wasn't sure he would ever be ready to spend a night in a Ministry holding cell. But it was better than Azkaban.

He suddenly realised that Tonks was grinning at him. He regarded her suspiciously.

"What?"

The Auror laughed. "Still love that outfit, by the way. And the dyed hair looks great."

Remus narrowed his eyes. "You are a sick and deranged woman."

Tonks' grin was wicked. "I'm not the one wearing it, mate."

The steely glare with which he fixed her was one of his best – a cold gaze of true arctic ice that could probably have frightened a Hebridean Black into submission. But the Metamorphmagus only broadened her smile.

"Nice one, Remus. You've just mastered the disgruntled-werewolf-under-arrest look. Now just keep it up until we get to the cells, okay?"

A moment later, the steps of the shattered werewolf haven were filled with nothing but the light of the stars and the mess-fixing curses of the unfortunate Anton Spiers.

**A/N**: Apologies for posting this a day late, but it was partly because my last part was a day late and partly because I couldn't respond to you all because the FFN reviewing system for Oblivious has gone frankly _weird_. I came in yesterday, knowing from my stats that I had 199 reviews, eight more than I had had the day before. Unfortunately the only review I could see was Howling Wolf 22's. Normally this wouldn't be a problem – I'd just check my review alert emails – except I haven't had a review alert email from FFN since mid November. glowers No matter what I did, I could not make those reviews appear. When I came in this morning and they still weren't there, I got a little annoyed. I eventually found them when I noticed my page count had moved from review page 13 to 14. Ladies and Gentlemen, believe it or not, your reviews for chapter 21 are underneath the ones for chapters 1, 2 and 3.

I'm very cross. :(

If my reviews for chapter 22 end up down there too, I shall be sending a stern email. Honestly! Just out of curiosity, is anyone else having this problem or is it just me they are messing with?

So if I've missed anyone out, that's why. Apologies.

**Reviewer Responses**:

**Howling Wolf 22**: Actually, Kane believes that Remus and those like him are a shame to all wolfkind but that's beside the point. ;) And see, the plan was going fine until… well, until it all went wrong! I suppose it could have been Kingsley rather than Tonks, but that wouldn't have been as fun…;)

**Jello**: I think I agree with that assessment. :)

**Ija Ijevna**: There will be a slightly quieter patch before the big stuff kicks in again. ;) But thank you very much! You know, I never used to be much of a cliffie person before I started this fic. It's corrupted me! ;)

**Neoma**: That's a good question, actually. Kane is pretty much beyond all help really – the wolf has taken over his humanity completely and if the wolf were to be taken out, whatever was left of that ten year old boy would frankly be a screwed up insane mess. The moment he gave himself up completely, there was no going back. That's the difference between a feral incident and turning feral completely – a feral incident is usually an accident and not what the person wants to happen but going feral means they've either given up, lost the fight or willingly given themselves over to the wolf. So you see for Remus, it would depend entirely on how deeply he fell in and what situation he was in at the time. As for the matter of full moon/sunrise-set timing – that's always been something I've wondered about myself and have trouble figuring out. I've had a go - it gets touched upon briefly in chapter 27, so hang on until then. :) But I worked out around Friday's full moon (which I saw whilst driving home) that if it is based on sunrise/set, in the winter a werewolf would be transformed for more than fourteen hours. Ouch. :(

**vickyed**: Thank you very much! You're about halfway through this fic at the moment, so you've a little while to go yet. I do have an idea for a sequel, but I can't guarantee if and when it will be written, because I am currently very short of constructive writing time and desperately want to devote a bit of time to my poor neglected novel. :)

**Liv Naravul, ArwenLumos & MiniMePink**: Thank you all very much. :)

**RC Dreamer of Hope**: 1981 is something I won't be examining much more deeply in this fic. I am considering writing a short three chapter fic that addresses what happened in its own right though. :)

**BlackHorntailJunior:** I like Tonks but I don't like it when he is portrayed as a bit of an airhead – she'd never have got through Auror training if she wasn't both quick thinking, good at what she did and smart. And I did notice about Diana. ;)

**trevor-bruttenholm**: See, it wasn't that bad! All things considered, anyway….;)


	23. A Night in a Cage

_23: A Night in a Cage_

The cell was cold and cramped, a cube of four stone walls punctured only twice, once by a high, barred window that offered a scattering of starry sky that mocked his incarceration and once by a hefty iron bound door that sealed away the world. A lone, battered plank was all the furniture on offer. If it had not been for the now reverted drape that had doubled for a cloak in The Howling, he would not even have had a blanket. Werewolves, it seemed, did not deserve luxuries.

But at least he was alone.

He needed to be alone. He needed to think.

How had it happened? How had he come to this?

Just a week ago, he had known that his only feral incident had been a brief moment of drunken madness, driven by the intensive grief for the loss of the friends that had been his life. Now he found himself having barely avoided a _third_.

Was it true, the Ministry's assertion that one feral incident made a werewolf more vulnerable to others? He had never really believed it, until now.

Or perhaps it was simply the sheer weight and volume of intense emotion that seemed to play havoc with his life. He certainly seemed to have seen more than his share of it.

He had been moments away from turning, in that instant of ignition in the club. Kane's goading, the thought of his mother… Remus shied sharply away from the perilous territory that such thoughts represented. He had given the wolf an inch and barely managed to prevent the yard. And that had been exactly what Kane had wanted.

His father had expressed concern that Kane might still want to turn him feral and Kane's actions, both in Hogsmeade and The Howling appeared to back him up. But why? Did he really miss the thrill of a partner in crime? Or was it simply the glorious and vengeful irony of turning another grandson of Rafe Lupin into the very thing that he had despised the most?

But whatever his motivations, Remus could not avoid the worrying truth of the matter. Kane had nearly succeeded.

Would he have been able to pull the wolf back a second – a _third_ – time if matters had gone that far? He had managed it before, horrified realisation overcoming grief and alcohol in the stunning instant when he had struck out at Alastor Moody in 1981. But just how many times could he venture into such murky waters? Was his lifeline, his sanity, strong enough to take the strain?

Until that evening he would have said yes without hesitation. His self-control had always been a trait he had valued highly and been proud of. But that had been before he had been so easily manipulated into anger.

The words spoken by Tonks in the Hospital Wing – had it really only been a week since then? – haunted his mind alarmingly. _But he must have thought you were viable, or he wouldn't have risked it. Do you think You-Know-Who suggested it? Wants you on his side, maybe? A feral with the memories of a senior Order of the Phoenix member would be pretty valuable to him_.

A frightening thought indeed. For if he were in danger of being turned, what would that mean for his friends? For Harry? For the Order itself? The number of people his potential insanity and defection could endanger was staggering. His feral self would not care for his friends – indeed, the mind of a wolf combined with the inherent vindictiveness of the human mind would most likely mean that he would target them specifically. And with friends such as his, such a vendetta would endanger the entire Wizarding world.

And the Order… If his feral self were to be persuaded onto Voldemort's side, as Kane had nominally been, the damage he could do to the Order of the Phoenix through his knowledge was too appalling to contemplate. He had no desire to seem arrogant or self-important, but with the inside secrets he could provide, the Order would be doomed. His weakness could lose them the war. He could destroy the very world by it.

But what could he do, aside from retreat to a mountain top monastery and never be seen again? Or possibly shoot himself?

Remus gazed up through the barred window at the scattering of stars beyond. Amazing. He had never realised just how much a prison cell could take brooding to new levels. No wonder poor Sirius had been so guilt-stricken after his escape. He'd honed his brooding skills for a full twelve years in Azkaban.

With a sigh, Remus laid back slowly along the uncomfortable plank bed, pulling the ragged drape across his body for warmth. If he could brood this much in just one night, he wouldn't have lasted a week in Azkaban. Thank God for Tonks.

It was time to sleep. Brooding did no good to anyone. His mother had always said that.

_Mum_.

_No_. Sleep now. No more brooding. Enough.

Sleep.

Staring at the stars and trying not to think was a difficult way to pass the long hours until sunrise. But Remus somehow managed it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Well? Where is he?"

A echoing shout and the pounding of footsteps outside his cell wrenched Remus forcefully from his lack of sleep. Tearing his eyes way from the gradually lightening sky outside the bars, he pulled himself upright, creaking with leather and weariness as he cast aside his makeshift blanket and rose uncertainly to his feet as keys rattled in the lock of his cell. He ducked his head self-consciously in the growing light as the cell door flung open to expose a figure in Auror robes and…

Good Grief.

Felisha Hathaway?

But no. The eyes were not brown but impossibly violet, the hair far frizzier and wilder than Felisha would ever have allowed and the face not quite right, almost as though…

As though someone aged her after they copied her from a picture.

Remus gritted his teeth. If Sirius Black had still been alive, he would have taken great pleasure in _killing_ him. _What_ had he been telling people?

The Auror who had escorted the fake Felisha was grinning. That was ominous.

"Your wife's posted bail, Mr Moony," he said with a smirk. "I'll leave you in her capable hands."

"Thank you," The apparent Mrs Moony nodded graciously to the Auror before abruptly turning on her so-called husband with an infuriated scowl. "As for you, you stupid layabout! Do you have any idea how much I had to stump up to get them to free you? Do you? And all the money you've been spending in that place, on those ridiculous clothes! Oh! Ever since that bite, you've been impossible, it's time to grow up and stop experimenting like a teenager! Here!"

Remus found himself forcefully smothered as a vast and voluminous travelling cloak that he recognised at once as belonging to Alastor Moody smacked him across the face.

"Put that on and cover yourself up at once! I don't want the neighbours seeing the state of you!"

Obscenely tired, slightly bemused but nevertheless obedient, Remus pulled on the cloak. It all but engulfed him, but anything that hid his face whilst crossing the bright reception of the Ministry Detention Area's reception was no bad thing. Which was why he suspected the estimable Mrs Moony had brought it.

With a sigh, he emerged blinking into the brighter corridor. Much as he'd expected, he found himself seized sharply by the arm as his fake wife dragged him along the corridor, berating him loudly all the while.

"All the times I've looked after you, all the effort I go to, to make you happy! Well don't think you'll be sleeping in the bedroom for the next six months, let me tell you! The sofa is made up and count yourself lucky it isn't the roof!"

The broader reception area opened out – Remus remembered it well from the hours he had spent filling out forms and untangling red tape in order to free his father the previous Christmas; there had been a wearisome and protracted debate as to whether or not a werewolf qualified as next of kin. Now it was full of disgruntled looking werewolves filing past, signing for their possessions and occasionally their wands as those lucky enough to have a person in their life who could afford and were willing to pay the extortionate bail were freed from custody. Staring at the queue, Remus thanked his stars he had given his wand to Tonks before he was searched.

But werewolves and Aurors alike were sharing a smirk at the predicament of this apparently unfortunate husband and his extremely vocal wife. Lowering his head self-consciously, Remus grimaced and prayed that his heavy hood was as concealing as it felt.

"Drinking yourself into a stupor, probably flirting or worse with some werewolf floozy! After all I've done for you! Do I complain when you shed on the rug? No! When you ate the neighbour's cat, did I say a word? I even offered to help with the housetraining! But oh, no, you have to go out and make a fool of yourself anyway, don't you? You always know best! Well not this time! This time things are going to change!"

With an emphatic thump, the doors were hurled open. Snickering echoed from behind as Remus felt himself dragged into the gathering light of the alley between a pub and a boarded-up office into which they had emerged from a battered old door, painted with peeling red paint and daubed in white with a skull and crossbones. A moment later, a small scruffy street with a dirty skip and a battered old-fashioned red telephone box opened out before them. They were outside the visitors entrance to the Ministry of Magic.

The haranguing flood of words ceased abruptly as Mrs Moony checked carefully left and right. And then, finally certain that no one was watching, the fake Felisha's features melted away into a cap of tight blue curls and a heart shaped face, adorned with an enormous grin.

Remus regarded Tonks with eyebrow raised. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

The grin spread. "Very much."

Side by side, the two Order colleagues began to move towards the sullen, boarded, more deserted end of the street that faded against the dawn light as though dying before it. They could not afford to apparate back to Grimmauld Place in view of potential witnesses.

"I knew it." Remus stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket as he eyed the grinning Tonks from beneath the shadow of his hood. "That kind of performance can only be achieved by pleasure. But why on earth did you make such a scene? I thought the whole point was to keep me _inconspicuous_."

"And I did," Tonks informed him brightly – Remus couldn't help but feel that she was far too cheerful for someone who had just come off a trying night shift. "Because now whenever someone says Romulus Moony, everyone at Auror HQ will think of his barking wife. They won't even remember _you._ And if they don't remember you, they won't even consider associating you with a unmarried Hogwarts professor and upstanding member of the community, now will they?"

Remus stared at her for a moment with a mixture of incredulity and respect. "I stand by assertion of sick and deranged. I may even raise you to evil genius."

Tonks laughed at that, a cackling mockery of a screen villain's delight that made Remus laugh in turn.

"All right, barking Mrs Moony I understand," he admitted. "But why on earth did you decide to come and collect me looking like a knocked off version of Felisha Hathaway?"

Tonks chuckled wickedly. "Because Sirius showed me a picture of her at Easter when we were helping him sort through his things. And he told Bill Weasley and me about the time in your sixth year when he tricked her into the Prefect's Bathroom whilst you were having a bath and locked the door on you both. Left you alone there all night, he said." Her eyes twinkled. "He also informed me with some glee that whenever he asked you about it afterwards, you always blushed and refused to say a word and that you'd never meet her eye in the corridor without going either scarlet or white. He said it was hysterical watching the pair of you on Prefect patrol. So I guess I just wanted to see what would happen if she came to – _ahem_ - pick you up."

In spite of his absolute determination not to do so, Remus realised he was blushing again. At Tonks' infectious burst of laughter, he smiled through his embarrassment and swatted her irritably on the shoulder.

"Sirius was a git," he informed her. "Both for telling you and for doing that to me in the first place. And don't you think I've been punished enough?"

The sudden apprehension that swept over Tonks' previously merry face pulled him up short. He fought a sudden chill.

_What does she know?_

"Tonks?" he said warily.

The young Auror sighed. "I had to tell them, Remus. I'm really sorry but I didn't have a choice."

Remus lowered his head. "Moody and Dumbledore."

Tonks nodded. "They're waiting for you at Grimmauld Place. I'm under orders to see you there then bugger off so you can face the music. Sorry."

Remus shook his head – he had been expecting some kind of reception and he certainly wasn't going to blame Tonks for doing the right thing. "It's not your fault. If I hadn't been such a prat, neither of us would have been caught up in this mess."

She smiled awkwardly. "Well, I can't expect you to go in unarmed. Here."

Reaching into her cloak, she extended her hand and offered him back his wand. With a tenuous smile of relief, Remus accepted it and slipped it securely into his pocket.

Tonks glanced around. "Well it seems pretty quiet. Ready to apparate?"

Remus nodded quietly. "Three, two one…"

A moment later, Grimmauld Place opened out before him, grim and shrouded in the first creeping light of dawn. The ominous dark, serpent headed doorknocker of Number Twelve glistened with spiders webs and dew.

He turned to Tonks. She smiled wanly.

"All the best, mate," she said softly. "I'll see you soon."

And then with a resounding crack, Remus was alone.

With a long sigh, he ascended the steps and tapped the door with his wand. Ominously, it creaked open.

And there, waiting, silhouetted in the hallway by the glow of light gleaming up from the distant basement kitchen, Remus met the furious and disappointed stares of Alastor Moody and Albus Dumbledore.

This was not going to be pretty.

**A/N**: Regarding the mysterious Felisha and the Bathroom Incident…. The cameo appearance by Tonks as a "knocked off version of Felisha Hathaway" is a small tribute on my part to a fic that I am now certain I will never write. The story of Remus and Felisha was an idea I had back in the days when I hadn't read much fanfiction, and therefore was unaware that the RemusOC Marauder-to-present fic was a genre that had been done, redone, repeated, hashed out, beaten to death and then had its limbs ripped off to be hammered over the head with the soggy ends until nothing remained but a small stain on the carpet that was then quietly teased and moulded in order to be stamped on some more. In other words, it's been done. Don't get me wrong, I am very fond of many of those stories but there are _so_ many and I hate the thought of repeating someone else's work when I strive to at least try and be original in my writing and my plot; hence I decided to relegate that tale to my mind and my mind alone and write _Oblivious_ instead. That I can't write romance to save my life without making it either dreadful or cheesy was also a contributing factor in its demise, but I have preserved one small event from that tale to be repeated here second hand as a kind of nod to it. Hence, the aforementioned reference to the Bathroom Incident. :)

Phew! That whole reviewing mess seems to have straightened out now anyway. Though I still don't get my nice alert emails anymore. :(

**Reviewer Responses**:

**Howling Wolf 22**: It'd probably take a while wolf pack too…;) Tonks is fun, bless her. And the worst of the plan is over now. Now come the consequences…:/

**TrinityDD**: Let's hope the site is sorted out now! :And thank you. :)

**RC Dreamer of Hope**: I must admit Tonks has grown on me in the writing. When I first started this, her part was supposed to be very small – one or two quick appearance at the most – but I enjoyed writing her so much her part has grown! :) And I may write that 1981 short when Oblivious is finally finished. I want to but I'll have to see if I have time…:)

**Liv Naravul**: Thank you very much! Tonks has grown on me also! :)

**Jello & MiniMePink**: Tonks is good, isn't she? :) Thank you!

**KnightMara**: My updates are pretty consistent when FFN is playing ball – Wednesday nights and Saturday mornings (British time) when I can. :) And I have had a perverse amount of fun writing Kane so with a new name, he may be reborn elsewhere. :)

**abesapien**: Urg, exams! You have my sympathies! Rey and Remus both deserve many hugs. You got lucky with that cliffie! Tonks is so much fun! –g- I love writing the banter – it almost literally writes itself! That pair really do get quite out of hand! :)

**Ija Ijevna**: Alastor and Tonks do tend to be two of the characters most prone to dissolve into stereotypes of themselves in fic-land. So I'm glad you feel I've done them justice! And fan art? Can't say anyone's ever mentioned doing it before! Though on a personal level, I can't draw to save my life! :)

**BlackHorntailJunior**: Romulus Moony was just too good not to use. ;)

**ArwenLumos**: Thank you very much! Remus is out of his cell now as you can see, but he might be wishing he'd stayed there by now…:/

**trevor-bruttenholm**: I try to keep a bit of humour in things. :) I've always felt Tonks had to be on the ball with a decent brain or she simply wouldn't have got through Auror training and been taken into the Order. The bickering is so much fun! ;)

Thank you all very much! :)


	24. Facing the Music

_24: Facing the Music_

Quietly, Remus stepped inside and closed the front door. At Dumbledore's gesture, he removed his cloak and moved quickly down the hallway and into the basement kitchen. Following a few steps behind, Moody pulled fast the door to shield their words from the portrait of Mrs Black.

There was a long, agonising silence.

Eyes burned against his skin as though to flay it off. He shifted uncomfortably, raking a hand through his darkened hair.

It was Moody who broke the stalemate, clumping forward awkwardly on his wooden leg as his mad eye whirled and spun, powered by sheer rage.

"Lupin," he said coldly, his voice almost shaking with fury. "What the _hell_ were you playing at?"

Remus focussed at once upon the incandescent form of his father's old friend. It was easy than enduring the steady, sad-eyed unrelenting stare of Albus Dumbledore's disappointment.

"Look, Alastor, before we get into this, do you think I could go upstairs and change?" He examined his black streaked hand with a sigh. "I feel like an idiot."

"And you look like one too." Moody asserted grimly. "And that's because you are one, Lupin. You'll stay where you are and live with it."

"But…"

"Remus." Dumbledore's voice intruded softly, laced with betrayal, silencing his former pupil instantly. "As I'm sure you are aware, your actions this evening not only endangered your own life and risked the career I have worked so hard to ensure should be yours, you also put in peril the position and freedom of Nymphadora Tonks and possibly even the Order of the Phoenix. You have abused not one but two positions of trust I have accorded you – as a teacher at my school and a member of the Order. I do not appreciate being lied to, Remus. Especially by those in whom I have shown great trust over the years. I would never have expected such behaviour from you. And I would like to know _why_ you have done this."

"I…" His voice shaking unbearably, shame strangled the rest of his words. Guilt, powerful and potent, welled up in Remus' chest – it was all he could do not to allow himself to be overwhelmed by the strength of it. And the intensity of Dumbledore's blue-eyed stare was unrelenting. He swallowed hard.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Moody snorted. "Sorry's all well and good. Doesn't change a thing though, does it? And it doesn't answer the question."

Remus found himself unable to lift his gaze from the floor, his head weighed down by the disappointment of two men whose respect he had always cherished. His tongue felt leaden. He couldn't speak.

Dumbledore spoke once more, his every soft word striking like a dagger's blow against the younger man's heart. "I did not believe you the sort of man to act rashly, Remus. And I certainly did not expect you to seek out petty revenge in this fashion. You have barely been free of Madam Pomfrey's care three days and you are already throwing yourself into danger over what? An injury already healed? You were removed from this case for your own safety, Remus, and given a task of great responsibility. Why do you risk that over a flesh wound?"

Remus' head snapped up. Of course. They did not know he knew. He had almost forgotten.

"I didn't." The words echoed across the silent kitchen. "This has nothing to do with the attack in Hogsmeade. Is that what you think of me?" He took a deep breath. "You're not the only one who has been lied to. I _know_, Albus."

The silence reasserted itself darkly. Moody and Dumbledore exchanged a long look.

"Know?" Moody repeated finally. His single human eye was filled with uncertain apprehension. "Know what?"

Remus drew himself up. "After seeing Kane in Hogsmeade, part of my father's memory charm broke. My father explained everything to me last weekend. I know who bit me. And I know why."

Moody closed his eyes with a deep sigh. The gaze of Albus did not waver.

"And so you pursued him." The headmaster sighed. "But again Remus, though I understand how greatly he has impacted upon your life, the wrongs he had done you, I thought you had long ago come to terms with your lycanthropy. Why this vendetta?"

"Because he has to be stopped." Remus took a step forward, his hands extended before him almost pleadingly. "Before he destroys another family, kills or turns another child – or Harry! It has to end, and I just thought…"

"That you should be the one to do it?" Moody cut harshly across his words. "Poetic justice, brought down by the lad whose life he ruined, eh? No, Lupin, you didn't think and you chose a bad time to shut your brain off. What do you think we were going to do, let him run loose because we didn't have fate or retribution on our side? That Shacklebolt wasn't the one who suggested that raid on The Howling to Dawlish in the first place? We haven't been sitting on our backsides twiddling our thumbs you know. And just because we didn't fill you in on our every move did not mean that we weren't making them!"

Remus closed his eyes, biting his lip against an unpleasant mix of remorse and resentment. "I just wanted to _do _something."

Moody snorted. "Oh you did something right enough. You made a bloody mess and you're damned lucky that young Tonks was there to haul you out of it. If you were so desperate to act, why in hell's name didn't you just ask us about it before charging off on your own?"

Remus struggled helplessly. "You took me off the case once…"

"For your own blasted protection!" Moody was raging now, volume shaking the rafters – Remus caught a glimpse of Dumbledore casting a surreptitious silencing spell over the door to keep Mrs Black from joining in. "For all the bloody good it did in the end!"

"Alastor, please." Remus raised a hand against the blazing fury of the retired Auror. "I understand that. I also understand that you were afraid that if I got too close to Kane, he might kill me or even turn me." He swallowed deeply. "To be honest, so am I." He paused as the impact of his words struck uncomfortably home with both men, fighting to explain. "But I was… _angry_. I couldn't stand the thought of stepping back and seeing him take away anyone else I cared about…"

His voice trailed away as Moody's eyes widened with sudden shock. "Oh Merlin," the older man breathed, his words a harsh realisation. "Rey never bloody went and told you about…"

Remus nodded softly, watching as Moody's eyes closed and his expression winced at the confirmation. "He didn't mean to. But yes, he told me who he thought killed my mother. And just a few hours ago, it was admitted to my face."

Moody's eyes snapped open; Dumbledore's head flew up. Both men stared.

"He admitted it?" Moody's voice shimmered with a tapestry of shock and hatred. "He admitted to killing Diana?"

Remus gritted his teeth, a ward against dangerous anger. "In quite vivid detail."

Alastor almost snarled, thumping his fist down with some considerable force on the table. "I _knew_ it. Filthy feral bastard! I'm going to grind him down into a stain on the floor! They won't even find a fingernail…"

"Alastor." Dumbledore's soft reprimand silenced the rant of his friend. His eyes were fixed on the tightness of Remus' face and the tension in his slight form. "Not now."

Moody's eyes focussed on the rigid form of his old friend's son. His voice, although still firm and fierce, softened along the edges almost imperceptibly. "Just count yourself lucky I won't be mentioning this to Rey; one Lupin on the rampage is quite enough. Sort yourself out, lad, and leave Kane to me. Trust me, I won't let him get away with this any more than you would. Albus."

Dumbledore inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement as, with a nod and a wave of his wand, the old Auror pulled down the wards around the door and clomped out of the room.

The gentle hand against his shoulder jerked Remus out of his grim reverie – he looked up into the sympathetic eyes of the old headmaster.

"Remus, I understand your distress; Diana was a dear friend of mine for many years and a wonderful mother to you. But surely you understand that she would not wish to see you placed into this kind of danger. I know, given the circumstances, that what I am to ask of you now may be considered unfair. But it is for your own good." The reassuring fingers gave a gentle squeeze. "Please. Leave this to us. Stay at Hogwarts from now on; there at least you can do some good without futilely risking your life. Do not seek out Kane again." The blue eyes bored into his own. "May I have your word on this?"

There was a long silence. Remus' thoughts reeled from one extreme to the other, a tangle of complications and confusion. How dare he ask this of him, knowing what that creature had done to his family? How could he be expected to simply sit on the sidelines and watch and wait in ignorance whilst others acted in his stead?

In safety. Doing the job that Dumbledore had risked his reputation to ensure he had. Doing what he'd always wanted to do, what his mother had wanted him to do – he remembered her joy when he had broken the news of Dumbledore's offer to her and his father the day before she left on her fateful trip to France. She had told him that she had never been so proud.

And he was jeopardising that for what? A chance to die? A chance to become the very same kind of monster that had stolen her life away?

Painful as it was to admit it – Dumbledore was right.

He matched the gaze with resignation. "You have my word. I will not seek out Kane again."

With a pat on his shoulder, Dumbledore finally smiled. A hint of the elusive twinkle returned to his eyes.

Thank you, Remus," he said.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dawn was spreading its gentle caress over the Scottish landscape that cradled Hogwarts and its grounds as the school headmaster and his errant Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher made their way down the drive from the school gates, the echo of their apparation bouncing distantly away from glen to glen. Remus adjusted his shabby robes with some relief as he walked, pushing his once more light brown hair back out of his eyes. A couple of minutes to change and a few sturdy scourgify spells on his hair had soon reverted him back to himself. The leather coat had been relegated to a cupboard and Remus had made a solemn vow in the silence of his mind that he would never, no matter what incentive was offered, be donning it again. Enough was enough.

He was uncertain as to exactly how he felt about his promise to Dumbledore – a part of him, deep inside, was screaming blue murder about sitting back and trusting others to ensure that Kane was brought to justice. But there was a calmness too, a sense of relief. Kane would be caught – Moody was almost as determined as he was to see to it. The feral brought out a part of him he had struggled all his life to keep buried and subdued, and away from his presence, Remus was sure, the risk of his ever turning feral again would be substantially reduced. And that would be wisest for them all.

This was the best thing. The best.

He was sure of it.

Almost.

After all Moody had failed before. And the life of another child was on the line.

_No more kids_. On that they did agree. And at least here he could watch out for Harry.

Determinedly he sealed his mind against further negativity. _For the best_.

The great front doors of Hogwarts swung back at the touch of their headmaster, to reveal the dark and shadowed entrance hall. And, rather surprisingly, an alarmingly agitated Severus Snape.

The Potion Master's eyes fixed on Remus. His face flared with rage.

"Lupin!" he snarled furiously, storming over. A goblet of potion slopped unceremoniously in his grasp, its contents retained safe in their container only by magical safeguards. "Where have you _been_?"

Remus blinked in astonishment. "Pardon?"

Snape bristled as he swept to halt in front of his bemused colleague. "_Where_ have you _been_? I have spent a good part of the afternoon and most of the night combing this castle and its grounds looking for you! I couldn't find the headmaster to warn him you were missing, apparently because he was rounding you up! I even stooped so low as to ask Peeves! And believe me Lupin, I fully expect you to _personally_ clean up the mess he made of the third floor corridor because of it!"

Snape paused momentarily for breath, his usually pallid features flushed with fury, his eyes glinting with unconcealed dislike, before launching once more into his tirade. "Do you think I have nothing better to do than chase you around? I have important work, _Order_ work, that searching for an irresponsible, idiotic werewolf has delayed! Do you expect me to tail around after you like a lapdog? Are you so arrogant as to believe I am _obliged_ to do this? Or were you perhaps planning to give your pupils a practical demonstration of lycanthropy? Certain _favoured_ amongst their number seem to have a great deal more knowledge on the subject than others." He drew himself up with a glare of disdain. "It wouldn't surprise me – responsibility for your condition has always been something that other people can worry about, hasn't it Lupin? Your parents, the headmaster, James Potter and now, it seems, me! And now you the nerve to stroll back in, innocent as you please and all you can say is _pardon_? _Here!_" Violently, he thrust the goblet of potion into Remus' unprepared hands. "_Drink_ it! Drink deeply of the milk of human kindness and think about how lucky you are! Though if you'd been more than a few minutes later, you might as well not have bothered at all! _Werewolves!_"

With a foul sneer, Snape folded his arms and regarded his fellow teacher with steely disdain. Remus could hold his icy glare for only a moment before dropping his gaze to the goblet that had been so unceremoniously forced into his hand. He examined the shifting, smoking liquid for barely an instant before he felt his stomach drop.

_Oh no_. His _Wolfsbane_.

It was a week – less than a week - until full moon. He'd completely forgotten.

"That's right," Snape's sharp reprimand stung like salt against the wound of his guilt. "You were due your first dose yesterday. You ought to know by now how this works, Lupin – your mother patented the bloody thing after all. But you appear to require reminding of the seven doses you must take over the course of the week before full moon, that they must be spaced out by just over twenty-one hours at the _very least_ to prevent the cumulative concentration of aconite in your system from _killing_ you. And whilst this would be no great loss, I have no wish to be held responsible for your demise." His dark eyes flared. "And when I foolishly agreed to make this potion – purely for the safety of those that an unfettered werewolf transformation within a school would endanger – I assumed you would have the sense _this _time to be around to _take_ it. One more hour, Lupin, _less _than one more and you wouldn't have been able to safely take enough before next Friday's moonrise. As it is, you've cut it ridiculously tight." He smirked cruelly. "The aconite concentration will be heavier in your system than usual; I suspect you may be in for a rather torrid week. Just don't vomit or faint in front of the pupils. It sets such a bad example."

Remus felt a shameful flush rising to his cheeks; Snape's jibes, for once, were fully deserved. With a sigh and a shake of his wand, he cancelled the wards over the goblet and raised it reluctantly to his lips. The bitter, choking taste of the foul liquid scraped across his taste buds, but the familiar retching sense of sickness it invoked was well earned. How could he have been so reckless, so stupid as to forget he was due to start his Wolfsbane course the day before?

He could feel Dumbledore's eyes drilling into him as well. He had promised him he would not repeat his old mistake and now, on yet another impulse, he had almost done exactly that. He suspected that the twinkle would be once again absent from his gaze.

A week of feeling even more ill than he had come to expect was a mild penance by comparison.

Head lowered, he handed the empty goblet back to Snape. The Head of Slytherin accepted it with a dismissive smile.

"You really are a fool, Lupin," he murmured softly. "Enjoy your week."

And then, with a flourish of robes, Snape turned and swept out up the stairs, muttering sourly under his breath.

Remus stared, wide eyed after the Slytherin for a moment before reticently shifting his gaze to flinch away from the once more disappointed eyes of Albus Dumbledore. He opened his mouth to apologise.

"Remus." The headmaster cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Go to your quarters and catch up on your sleep. You have classes tomorrow and as Severus said – you have a difficult week ahead. Get some rest."

"Yes, headmaster." Nodding, cowed, like a reprimanded schoolboy lost twenty years into the past, Remus bowed his head and hurried away towards his chambers.

It had not been a good night.

**A/N**: Thanks must yet again go to my wonderful beta Chriss for her assistance in the Snapifying of the latter half of this chapter as well as her contribution of several of the lines of what became a very juicy rant to write. Thanks again matey! :)

**Reviewer Responses**:

**RC Dreamer of Hope**: Was that scoldy enough? ;) And big long random rambling sentences are rather my forte…;)

**The Thief Kuronue**: throws down a ropeNow, there that wasn't so – okay it was so bad, but it could have been worse…;)

**Howling Wolf 22**: Your wolves sound vaguely alarming…;) The Bathroom Incident – if I ever do write a sequel, it may be expanded upon there. I'm also considering writing it as a one shot or short fic. So you never know…:)

**MiniMePink**: I'm glad he's out too…:)

**Jello**: He does rather need a holiday, doesn't he? ;)

**abesapien:** I enjoyed writing Tonks in that scene and I'm glad the OC reference worked too – I was worried it would be a bit weird or confusing. :) And yes, Remus has been scolded rather….:/

**Shea Loner**: I try to balance out my angst with little bits of humour. Too much angsty stuff can be depressing. ;)

**TrinityDD**: I could just imagine Tonks having so much fun with that disguise! ;)

**ArwenLumos**: I'm really glad you're enjoying it. Though I apologise for any roommate related embarrassment I may be causing! :)

Thank you all very much! :)


	25. The Aconite Maelstrom

_25: The Aconite Maelstrom_

Remus was almost certain that the walls of his classroom were not supposed to be moving, let alone in such a languid manner. And although he had never been a strict disciplinarian, he had plans to quite emphatically punish whomever it was who had decided to tilt the floor beneath his feet.

Watching the motion of the wall was making him queasy. But then again, right now watching _sandpaper_ would probably make him queasy. All the same, perhaps if he looked somewhere else…

Blinking, Remus stared down at the swirling wood of his desk, fighting the turbulent nausea in his stomach, the shivers than ran like cold fingers through his bones and vibrant, dizzying maelstrom instead his head. Bloody aconite. Torrid did not even come close. Somewhere not so far away, fate was staring down and having a damned good laugh at his expense.

In a lifetime of sickness, of weariness, of almost constant ill health, he was not sure he had ever felt quite _this _bad. Even in the autumn term of his first stint at Hogwarts, when Snape had accidentally – or so he claimed -mistaken the potency of the aconite dosage in his final goblet of potion, leaving him laid up for the entire weekend of his transformation and the controversial Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch match; even then, he not felt this disorientated, this shaken. He was certain his precarious health of the week before had contributed to his current ill feeling. And to cap it off, he had been forced to awaken at some pretty obscene times of the night earlier in the week in order to take his doses at the now necessarily precise spacing, adding exhaustion to growing nausea and dizziness. That he was still standing was in itself an achievement.

Simple, straightforward pain he knew how to deal with. And tiredness was his way of life. But all _this_…

And it was only _Wednesday_. At this rate, he would be lucky to make Friday night alive.

"Ummm… Professor Lupin?"

The sound of a voice caused Remus to snap his head up – at once, he bit his lip as his vision endeavoured to stop vibrating long enough for him to focus a coherent thought. Rows of pale, pulsating faces stared eerily back through the haze.

His class.

Bugger.

Lost for a moment in the odd kaleidoscope that was his mind at present, he had actually managed to forget they were there. To add to his confusion, Remus was fairly certain he had been teaching them something or other a few moments before. The details, however, rather embarrassingly eluded him.

_Great_. _Just great_.

Under normal circumstances, Remus would not have dreamed of trying to teach a class in this condition. But given that his current illness was entirely due to his own thoughtlessness, he did not dare go to Professor Dumbledore almost three full teaching days before his transformation and asked to be relieved, however god-awful a state he found himself in. He had made his bed and he would just have to lie in it.

Lie in bed. He _wished_.

"_Professor?_"

Class. Students. Right.

Miraculously, a name sprang through the tumult of his mind.

"Yes, Hermione?"

An earnest face surrounded by bushy brown hair swam into clarity. Her expression was a mixture of bemusement and concern.

"Professor Lupin," she said cautiously. "Are you feeling all right?"

Leaning casually against his desk, Remus tried desperately to pretend it wasn't the only thing propping him up. "Fine," he lied pleasantly. "Why do you ask?"

Hermione's eyebrows twitched – there were several alarming giggles from further back in the room. _Oh no, what have I done?_

The Gryffindor prefect was exchanging glances with the messy haired bespectacled boy to her left. Harry. James' son had dropped into Remus' office earlier in the week, curious as to why he had not been present when he had dropped by to talk to him after the Quidditch match that weekend; not only had the Marauder's Map given away his absence from the premises, Harry had also observed - from beneath the safe concealment of his invisibility cloak of course - a cursing Snape striding down the corridor and muttering foul comments about the irresponsibility of particular werewolves. Remus was certain he had made up some kind of story to cover himself without admitting his personal vendetta, but in his rather befuddled state, he really was at a loss to remember what.

But Harry was speaking. He should be paying attention.

"…were talking about curses and effective duelling technique, Professor," the boy was staying, his tone uncertain. "But then you sort of just tailed off and started starring at the wall and then the desk. And you've been…well, _swaying_ all lesson."

Ah.

Remus managed to smile. "Well, I admit I have been a little under the weather today. But I'll be fine, it's nothing for you to worry about." Determinedly, he drummed his hands against the table. "So… What was I saying?"

"Curses." Hermione supplied with the barest hint of respectful impatience. "You were telling us why the conventional duelling curses such as _expelliarmus _and _impedimenta _aren't always the wisest to use in an actual duel."

Something stirred in Remus' mind. Yes. He knew this.

"That's right." He scrambled to catch his elusive thread. "Though these curses are amongst the most common used in duelling, both professional and genuine, both have a major flaw in a scenario where speed may be of the essence. Can anyone tell me why?"

Hands shot disconcertingly into the air. Unable to distinguish much in the way of facial features, Remus took a guess at one hand he was certain would be waving.

"Hermione?"

The girl beamed at once. When more than her own hand was raised these days, she was rarely called on. "Because both spells take so long to say that they leave the dueller open to a faster attack?"

"Exactly." Remus struggled to focus on his train of thought. "A shorter spell gets faster results and can disorientate an enemy long enough to allow time for a longer, more effective spell to be cast. With an agile enemy, the extra exposure of a more verbose spell can leave the dueller vulnerab… leave the duel…"

The room gave an ominous lurch. Even the pale blur of faces began to fade as the dancing of the walls intensified. Silver sparkles taunted the edges of his vision.

Remus bit down hard as he gritted his teeth and fought. _No. I am not going to faint in class. I am not going to give Severus Snape the satisfaction._

"Professor Lupin? _Professor Lupin!_" Harry's alarmed cry seemed to be coming from very far away. The rushing storm of colour that had swamped his eyes seemed to tilt. A moment later, something jarred painfully against his shoulder. Sparkles of silver and black overwhelmed his eyes…

And then voices. Distant, faraway, but gradually more distinct.

"…someone getting Madam Pomfrey?"

"Ernie and Justin went, I think. And Dean went for McGonagall…"

"Do you think he's okay?"

"…was creepy. He just _dropped_…"

"Should we get Dumbledore too?"

"…tell he wasn't well. He looked even worse than usual…"

"Maybe it's a… a _you know_…werewolf thing…"

"I don't like this…"

"...it _is_ nearly full moon…"

"He looks awful…"

"…what's the matter with him?"

"Maybe he's not better from that feral attack yet…"

"...isn't he coming round yet?"

"Poor Professor Lupin…"

Feeling followed sound in a sudden rush. Someone was gingerly tapping his face. The hardness of wooden floorboards pressed against his back. The tangle of voices, the dull roar of chatter of a shocked class, evened out and clarified. Abruptly, the tempest in his mind eased to a stiff breeze.

Realisation dawned. He'd fainted. In the middle of a lesson.

_Oh no_…

He groaned. There was a notable hush.

"Professor Lupin?" The voice belonged to Hermione. He suspected the hand tapping his face was also hers. Blinking against heavy eyelids, he managed to open his eyes.

A ring of faces gazed back down at him. He began to wish he'd kept his eyes shut.

A pair of glasses gleamed against the slant of autumnal light weaving its way into the classroom. Harry bent closer, his green eyes filled with concern.

"Are you all right, Professor?" he asked carefully. "You just blacked out for a moment."

Remus took a deep breath as he struggled to find the strength to speak, to rise, to pull himself upright and get on with the lesson before Poppy and Minerva arrived to deepen his embarrassment. He was rather alarmed to find it wasn't there.

_Never again. I am never again taking Wolfsbane doses so close together. I'd sooner go back to using the Shrieking Shack_.

The ring of faces gazing down at him had increased in number. All were exchanging glances of severe concern at his apparent inability to speak and reassure them.

_At least it was this class I fainted in. A Slytherin class would probably have been far too busy falling about with laughter to care if I was hurt_.

"Oh for goodness sake! Give the poor man some room!"

The faces abruptly scattered. The familiar form of Poppy Pomfrey filled his sight, bending low as she inspected her prone patient with a professional eye. And in the distance, beyond the reach of his eye, the distinctive Scottish drawl of Minerva McGonagall abruptly silenced the buzz of voices.

"Right! All of you pack up your things and head to the library. You will find yourself some books on whichever topics are relevant to the lesson Professor Lupin was giving and you will make notes and study. Anyone who does not will receive detention. I will be checking names with Madam Pince." There was a pause. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

"Please, Professor." Remus had enough of his faculties to recognise the voice of Neville Longbottom. "It's just – is Professor Lupin okay?"

When Minerva spoke again, her voice had lost a touch of its briskness. "He's been a little unwell this week, Longbottom, that's all. It's nothing serious. He'll be fine in a few days, I'm sure. Now run along, all of you. Madam Pomfrey knows what she's doing."

This time a reluctant shuffling followed her words, as books were swiped from tables, bags slung onto backs and footsteps rattled the floorboards as a muttering mass of teenagers hurried from the room. A moment later there was nothing but quietude.

Stern footsteps rattled the silence away, approaching with some haste – a moment later, Minerva's face had joined Poppy's.

"Remus?" she said sharply. "Can you hear me?"

Forcing himself to concentrate, Remus finally regained nominal control of his powers of speech. "Yes," he gasped, breathing hard. "I'm just having trouble…"

"Staying conscious? Moving? Not throwing up?" Poppy was regarding him sternly. "I'm not surprised. Albus told me that you were running close to the limit with your Wolfsbane this week. I would have offered you some potions to relieve the symptoms if I'd known you were feeling this bad, but being the foolish optimist I am, I assumed if you felt particularly unwell, you'd have had the sense to come and _tell _me. I should have known better though. I know you've been keeping odd hours to fit your doses in and I saw you picking at your breakfast like a bird this morning. Honestly! Hardly any food, hardly any sleep and on the limit of your body's aconite tolerance, and you expect to waltz in here and teach a class as though nothing is the matter! For such a nice young man, you really are quite unbelievably stubborn."

The heaviness that weighed down his limbs was receding at last; with a groan, Remus managed to push himself up onto his elbows to return the stares of the two formidable women who had known him since childhood with sheepish apology.

"Sorry," he murmured weakly. "I'm sorry. I thought I could cope…"

Poppy humphed loudly, rummaging in her bag as Minerva regarded him with a mixture of irritation and relief over her spectacles.

"I'm sure you did," she said dryly. "But one of these days, Remus, you're going to realise that you don't have to cope with everything by _yourself_."

Stretching awkwardly and too tired to protest, Remus allowed Minerva to help him sit upright. Closing his eyes with a sigh, he leant back against his desk, rubbing a weary hand across his forehead.

"Remus." A soft poke in the shoulder roused him. He opened his eyes to find a small vial, resting in the fingers of Poppy Pomfrey, was outstretched towards him.

"Drink it," the Matron told him, her tone a little kinder. "It should relieve the worst of the dizziness. And when we get to the Hospital Wing, I'll give you something for the nausea. It won't take your symptoms away, only skim the edge off, but at least you should be able to manage until Friday without fainting again."

Remus focussed in instantly on two words. "Hospital Wing?"

Poppy's expression hardened once more. "Yes Remus, the Hospital Wing. Don't worry, I don't plan you keep you until Friday but I'd be negligent to say the least if I didn't take a patient who had fainted in the middle of a class and check them over thoroughly, no matter if they are a professor or a pupil. And when I let you out, you'll go straight to your chambers and rest. I'll instruct the house-elves to bring you your meals there. I don't expect to see you roaming about again until after the weekend, understand?"

Remus made a half-hearted effort to rise that was immediately thwarted. "But my classes…"

"Will be covered," Minerva interrupted firmly. "I'll speak to Albus…"

"No!" Both Poppy and Minerva looked startled at the sudden interruption. "I mean I'll do it myself. I'll speak to Albus. This is my own fault and I'd rather deal with it myself."

Minerva gave him an exasperated look. "Remus, what was I just saying?"

At his almost pleading look however, the Deputy Headmistress gave way. "Oh, very well. But you better had request the rest of the week off, or I shall speak to Albus myself whatever looks you shoot at me." She glanced across at Poppy. "Can you manage now? Only I left my seventh years under the nominal control of the Head Girl and probably ought to get back before they transfigure my classroom beyond recognition."

Poppy nodded. "We'll be fine."

Rising from her crouch behind the desk with a stiff exclamation, Minerva half-started to move around the desk, but abruptly her expression darkened as her eyes fixed on the entrance.

"Who's there?" she exclaimed sharply. "Show yourselves this instant!"

A moment later her features tightened with irritation. "Oh for goodness sake! Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, Miss Granger, I distinctly recall telling you to go to the library on pain of detention. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have all three of you polishing silverware this evening."

Harry's voice drifted in from the corridor beyond. "But we were just worried…"

"About Professor Lupin?" Minerva interrupted sharply. "As was the rest of the class. Did you or did you not hear me tell Mr Longbottom that he was fine?"

"But…" This time the voice was Hermione's. "He couldn't speak…"

"I can now." Ignoring Poppy's glare of disapproval, Remus wrapped his hand around the edge of his desk and pulled himself unsteadily upright. Three pairs of eyes gazed at him with a mixture of confusion and concern from the doorway. Leaning forward against the desk, he smiled.

"Really, I'm fine," he informed them softly. "I took a little too much Wolfsbane potion last night, that's all – the overdose of aconite is playing havoc with my system. It's my own fault though, so I felt I ought to at least try and keep teaching." His smile became rueful. "Not the best idea I've ever had, it seems. Once the full moon passes I'll be all right though. But you probably won't be seeing me again for the rest of the week."

"Probably?" The stern gaze of Minerva McGonagall pinned him at once. "_Definitely_."

Remus nodded a weary consent. "Point taken. _Definitely_ no more teaching this week. I'd appreciate it if you could pass on to the rest of the class that I'm all right though. I'll be back on Monday."

Ron, Harry and Hermione exchanged a flurry of glances. Harry stepped forward, his green eyes filled with concern. "Are you sure you're okay, professor?"

Remus opted for honesty. "Not really. But I'm as okay as I'm going to get until next week. Madam Pomfrey is taking me to the Hospital Wing for a few potions and then I'll be retiring to my rooms to rest. I appreciate the concern, but I can look after myself."

Remus chose to ignore the snorts from both Poppy and Minerva at this statement; he smiled resolutely through their scepticism. The three Gryffindors sighed and nodded reluctantly.

"Okay Professor," Harry conceded. "See you next week then."

"We hope you feel better soon," Hermione added.

"Yeah, or we may end up having Snape substituting again!" Ron added with feeling, casting a glare at Hermione when she poked him in the ribs.

Remus couldn't help but grin. "And so my place in your lives emerges. I am your buffer against extra lessons with Severus Snape."

Ron grinned back sheepishly as Harry and Hermione laughed.

Their professor laughed too. "Go on, off to the library. See if you can find _Duelling in the Real World_ by Danae Trebond. She was School Duelling Champion three years running when I was at Hogwarts and she taught James, Sirius and me that trick about short spells. It's a useful book for this subject."

Hermione's eyes lit up at the recommendation of relevant reading material. Grabbing the two boys by the back of the robes, she nodded gratefully to Remus and hurried them away.

Minerva was smiling too. "Recommend a book. A sure fire way to move Hermione Granger in the direction of the library."

"Never fails." With a stretch, Remus pushed himself back to fully vertical, trying to ignore the aconite maelstrom swirling in his mind. He staggered slightly as Poppy caught his arm.

"As for you," she declared sternly. "It's time to go to the Hospital Wing."

Tired, nauseous and dizzy, Remus did not bother to disagree. Instead, he obediently allowed himself to be guided around the desk and away into the corridor.

At least the Hospital wing had beds.

**A/N**: Apologies for the slightly late posting. I actually managed to forget I was due to post a chapter last night! Oops! ;)

**Reviewer Responses**:

**The Thief Kuronue** – I think Moody and Dumbledore's reactions are so strong because such behaviour from Remus is so unexpected; such an impulsive action was more Sirius than Remus really. And Remus knows it, which is why he feels so bad, poor love – he's rather aware that in any other situation, he would have been the one doing the scolding….

**JennyJoy4 **– Tonks was fun wasn't she? And poor Remus indeed….

**Jello** – Remus does have a tendency towards self blame, whether or not things are actually his fault. And since he can see that what he did was pretty dangerous in hindsight, I don't think he'd really try to defend himself.

**KnightMara **– Thank you very much! This chapter, perversely enough, was one of the most enjoyable to write so far. As for Remus, as you can see, even if he wasn't feeling so guilty about The Howling incident, I'm not sure he'll be up to much for a while….;)

**Howling Wolf 22** – Not his night, indeed, nor in fact his week as you can see. Remus will certainly try and keep his promise, but yes, if Kane does cross his path, all bets may be off…;)

**MiniMePink, ArwenLumos & abesapien** – Poor Remus indeed. Thank you very much! :)

**aurelie1** – Thank you very much indeed! I hope you have enjoyed the rest as well. :)

**z'yiandria** – Thank you! The background for werewolves is mostly a compilation of my various theories about Potterverse lycanthropy. The flashback was also very fun to write, if a bit of a challenge in places. :)

**Moony-chan** – I really can't answer that question either way at the present time…;)

**Neoma** – I hope your essay went well! Much credit for Snapeishness must go to my beta Chriss, who is a big Snape fan and donated several corking lines of dialogue for that rant! :) But I think that rant works well because Snape does have a point…..;)

**BlackHorntailJunior** – He has every right to, but he would never let himself, because he's too Remusy for that. And that's why we love him. ;)

Thank you all very much! The next chapter will be along on Saturday! :)


	26. The Draw of the Moon

_26: The Draw of the Moon_

It was well into the evening before Remus succeeded in freeing himself from the well-meaning clutches of Poppy Pomfrey. He had to admit though that the selection of potions with which he had been dosed had indeed taken the edge off the worst of his symptoms; he no longer felt a barely controllable urge to vomit, although his stomach continued to roll and churn in protest against the food that Poppy had all but forced down his throat, the swirling whirlpool of dizziness had slowed to a disconcerting but bearable crawl and his vision was functioning to a useful degree at least. The only part of his wolfsbane-induced illness that Poppy had not been able to help him to moderate were the shivers. The cold washes than ran through his bones were something he would just have to live with.

All he wanted in that moment was to lie down and sleep for the rest of his life.

But first, he had to talk to Albus.

A part of him was wishing fervently that he had taken Minerva up on her offer of speaking with the headmaster on his behalf. But hiding from his responsibilities behind a cloak of sickness was the coward's way. No, he would see Albus himself and face the consequences.

If, of course, he could remember the password.

He was fairly sure that it was some manner of confectionary. But details eluded him. Such a challenge of memory was a real problem for a professor who had managed to forget that he was in the middle of teaching a class just a few hours before.

A grinding noise tore at his ears as he rounded the final corner. The gargoyle that guarded the hallowed entrance to the headmaster's office hoved into view, revolving gracefully in spite of the screech of stone on stone. Someone had just entered ahead of him.

Someone, who, unlike him, could remember the headmaster's sweet of the week.

This was not an opportunity he could afford to miss. The softness of his pillow, his warm sheets were calling and the glorious slump of finally yielding to the persistent demands of his body to give way to gravity and halt at horizontal. He had no desire to spend his evening stop helplessly before an uncaring gargoyle dredging his tattered memory for Honeydukes products.

Ignoring the pulsing in his head and the shrieks of his limbs, Remus bounded quickly across the final few yards and pulled himself into the gap before it closed.

Footsteps echoed on the steps above him, a clatter of percussive sound. Shaking himself, Remus dusted off his robes and moved more warily in pursuit.

At the head of the steps, the entrance to the office was slightly ajar, the swaying door spilling golden light onto the small landing as it wobbled vaguely as though it had been cast roughly from the path of some hurried prior arrival. In the chamber beyond, there were voices.

Courtesy reared its head; Remus was on the verge of retreating to the bottom of the steps again and waiting politely out of earshot until whoever it was who had preceded him was finished. But then, a voice, and a name was spoken that froze even his shivers in place.

"…no doubt about it. Oldstaff was adamant that Kane is up to something."

Severus Snape. The Slytherin's words in the entrance hall, earlier that week returned in a rush – _important work, Order work, that searching for – _well him_ - has delayed_. Severus had been tracking Kane's Death Eater links for the Order.

And he had news.

Politeness was abandoned. Courtesy was beaten down. With as much stealth as he could muster, Remus abandoned his retreat and edged closer to the slightly open door, straining his ears to listen.

"Does he have any idea of what?" Dumbledore's voice was unusually grave, echoing around the office chamber beyond with a ghost-like eeriness.

Snape snorted disdainfully. "Oldstaff? Ideas are things that happen to other people in his world. All he knows is what Kane told him when he showed up at his house last weekend – the feral has a plan and he means to carry it out imminently. But he would not give details and now cannot be reached. As far as the Death Eaters are concerned, he's vanished."

"But not as far as you are concerned?" The headmaster offered perceptively.

Snape's voice contained a hint of smugness. "Indeed not. A contact of mine has a confirmed sighting of Kane on Sunday night. He was visiting Knockturn Alley."

"Why?"

The smugness wavered. "That, unfortunately, my contact was unable to establish. But he believes from the whisperings he's heard that Kane has left London. That is all I know." He sighed slightly. "But we know now at least that the feral was not simply in London to kick that damned fool Lupin around The Howling like a stray quaffle. He was working on something. His little interlude with Lupin was probably his night off."

Remus quietly stifled his resentment at the unflattering comparison.

The sound of fingers drumming staccato against wood echoed from the room beyond. Remus could almost imagine the thoughtful look on Albus Dumbledore's face.

"Interesting," he murmured thoughtfully. "We know that Kane does not hold any real allegiance to the Death Eaters. He serves their purpose only because it suits him to do so. I doubt there is any way outside of his capture and interrogation under veritaserum that we will be able to decipher his plans before they happen. But with your warning at least, we shall be on our guard. Thank you Severus."

There was a pained note to Snape's tone. "There is something more."

"Regarding Kane?"

"No." Footsteps echoed from the chamber beyond. Severus was pacing. "I believe another attack may be imminent also. A Death Eater attack. Bellatrix Lestrange has been… making plans."

The finger drumming stopped abruptly. "What do you know?"

"Almost nothing." Remus could hear the frustration in Snape's voice. "Azkaban has only increased her paranoia and she disliked her brother in law Malfoy intensely. And even with him locked away, most of my significant contacts have come through my association with him…"

"…So you are out of the loop, so to speak." The gravity had returned to Dumbledore's voice.

"Exactly." The pacing stopped abruptly. "But she is clearly working towards something and it's not just Malfoy's old crowd – she's telling almost no one but the Dark Lord himself. Nobody I would feel confident in speaking with or trying subtle legilimency on is aware of her intentions. I have no way to glean further information, though I will of course continue to try."

"I understand." There was an almost soothing note to Dumbledore's tone. "We can at least up our guard and stand alert and perhaps any attack can be dealt with more quickly than if it had been a complete surprise. Never doubt the importance of even the slightest warning."

"Thank you headmaster." Snape did not sound especially convinced, but he did not express it beyond a certain inflection of tone. "If you will excuse me…"

"Of course. Good night Severus."

The strident slap of approaching footsteps drove Remus into an undignified retreat –fighting his dizziness, he just managed to avoid tumbling head first down the stairs as he grasped the stone wall and stumbled down a dozen steps to conceal his eavesdropping. Albus had made no effort to hide the fact that he was carefully shielding all knowledge of the situation with Kane from Remus – to admit to listening in to a conversation that the headmaster would most likely have gone out of his way to insure his former pupil did not hear would be a fine prelude to yet another round with a pair of blue eyes that lacked twinkle.

Out of sight, he collected himself, catching his breath as best he could as he turned quickly on his heel and started back, stepping up onto the stone stairwell once more just moments before a sweep of black surged irritably round the corner and all but knocked him over.

Snape staggered backwards, his eyes flashing as he registered shabby robes and a pale face. "Watch where you're going, Lupin!" he snarled fiercely. "Or perhaps you feel you have the right to drift along oblivious and expect others to dive out of your way?"

Remus, who had been a great deal more conscious of the approach of Snape than Snape had been of him, wisely chose not to contradict the aggravated Potions Master.

"I'm sorry Severus," he conceded mildly. "I suppose I wasn't paying as much attention as I should have been."

Snape's features compacted sharply around the prominence of his hooked nose. "What are you doing here anyway?" he grumbled unpleasantly. There was sudden smirk. "Come to beg for scraps of information about the feral, have you? Because, much as I'd like to see you beaten to a bloody pulp yet _again_, the headmaster is unaccountably fond of you. I doubt he will be forthcoming."

"No." The slow spin of dizziness was revolving behind his eyes once more – Remus struggled to concentrate. He was damned if he was going to admit to fainting in class after Snape's earlier snide remarks. "I just need to speak with the headmaster on a…personal matter."

The smirk spread. "Would this be to do with your little _swooning fit_?"

_He's heard. Damn_.

There was no point in trying to lie to Severus Snape. "Yes," he admitted reluctantly. And then since Severus would hear soon enough, he confessed the rest as well. "Poppy and Minerva have ordered me to retire from classes for the rest of the week. I'm here to ask Albus for cover."

Snape arched an eyebrow. "Shirking your responsibilities, Lupin? Now there's a surprise. And I wonder who will be expected to provide that cover?"

Remus fought a surge of irritation. "This isn't my choice." He managed at least to refrain from snapping. "I would have gladly continued if I could but…"

"The _ladies_ insisted you stop?" Snape interrupted with sweeping sarcasm. "That you should rest with your poor, delicate werewolf constitution? Making no mention of course that's it's your own damn fault you are in this state in the first place. If I were in your situation, I would not hide like a coward behind a couple of women to avoid the consequences of my actions. I would continue to teach."

Remus smiled insincerely. "Your pupils will be sorry to hear that. At least my students don't express a fervent desire for a sick colleague's recovery in order to avoid an extra lesson with me."

Snape's eyes darkened. "Potter and his friends, I suppose."

Remus felt his own smile fade as the strain of maintaining a civil front in a state of sick misery began to crack. "They aren't alone."

The Slytherin sneered. "Convenient, wasn't it, that it was that class of all classes in which you felt ill? What was it Lupin? Felt the need to garner a little sympathy after a week of being exposed as a fool? Were you hoping to regain some of the trust you squandered by your old trick of twisting pity to your advantage? Did you miss being _teacher's pet_?"

"Severus." The stern voice from above cut in before Lupin had a chance to respond. "That's quite enough."

Albus Dumbledore stood silhouetted a few steps above, his white beard glinting in the spill of light from his office. He was frowning.

Snape scowled. "Apologies if I disturbed you, headmaster," he said, his voice only concealing his irritation at the intrusion out of a lingering sense of respect. "Lupin is here to tell you that he wishes to foist his classes onto those of us more worthy to teach them."

Remus' voice was dangerous as he met the Slytherin's gaze. "You know bloody well I'm not faking this."

Severus chuckled nastily; his black eyes gleamed. "I know. And believe me I'm enjoying every minute. Good night, Lupin."

Making no effort to avoid a sharp impact to his colleague's shoulder, the Potions Master brushed roughly past Remus, pausing only briefly to incline his head in a brief nod of respect to the headmaster. A moment later, he swept round the corner and vanished from view.

For a moment, Remus stared in the wake of Snape's bad tempered departure, his irritation with the Head of Slytherin House waging war with a resurgent sense of guilt. In spite of the obvious vindictiveness behind his words, Severus had still managed to make him feel bad.

He hated it when that happened.

With a sigh, he turned back to Dumbledore. Obeying the headmaster's silent gesture, he turned and moved up the stairs towards the office. Guilt or not, he had no choice. His teaching for this week was over.

Kane was threatening havoc. Dangerous Death Eaters were making plans. And yet he couldn't even manage to stay upright long enough to teach a class.

Helplessness was not something Remus enjoyed. But with the combination of his own position of disgrace, his wolfsbane sickness and the draw of the moon, there was nothing he would do but watch and wait.

He would have claimed it was not fair. But after last weekend, he was not so sure that was the truth.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The following two days were something less than fun.

Further doses of Wolfsbane only served to exacerbate Remus' already unpleasant condition – most of Thursday and a good portion of Friday were passed in bed, trying to read or sleep but mostly staring miserably at the ceiling. The occasional appearance of a house elf bearing food and the predictable arrival of Poppy Pomfrey soon after to check him over, dose him with potions and insure he ate it were all he had to break up the monotony.

Friday dawned. And as the moon waxed and drew ever closer, the wolf twitched in his mind.

If this had been a simple human illness, Remus would not have been at all surprised. Even on a normal Wolfsbane protected full moon, a little activity was to be expected, rising briefly mid week only to fade as the potion accumulated. But surely the whole purpose of his current purgatory had been to numb the wolf in preparation for the full moon; it was rare for his werewolf half to be so alert after a week of sedative. The fact that in spite of the impact of his potion, it seemed somehow livelier than usual was more than a little alarming.

But the conclusion to be drawn was inescapable. The wolf was closer to the surface because of its almost appearance the weekend before. For a moment the wolf had scraped the bars of freedom for the first time in years and now, Wolfsbane or not, it wanted out. It had been chained and numb for too long.

And Remus was in no shape for a fight.

It did not help that apprehension about his cousin's potential attack was welling within him as the moon closed in. A werewolf, even a feral werewolf was at its strongest come full moon, immune to magic, powerful and driven, an almost unstoppable force. Kane would know that full moon would be the perfect time to strike against a foe that would otherwise have magic on his side, a chance to even the odds that fell for the rest of the month in a wizard's favour. That he was making preparations in London the weekend before a full moon was all the more ominous.

Kane would strike this night. He was all but certain.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

He knew from Poppy that Harry was under heavy observation – teachers, prefects, even his friends had been recruited to watch him like a hawk, ensuring that he did not give Kane or the Death Eaters any opening to remove him from existence once and for all. Remus could only imagine how much Harry would appreciate such attention. The poor lad would probably by now be nearly as stir crazy as he was.

Stretching sorely, Remus pulled himself to a half sit, starring out at the dusky sky as the setting sun cast an orange glow over the castle grounds. The goblet that contained his final dose of Wolfsbane sat steaming and repulsive on his bedside table where Poppy had left it after her dinner delivering check up; after their spat on the stairs, Severus had not deigned to deliver the final batches himself. The clock beside it told him that the end of his aconite self-poisoning was nigh.

_Last dose for three weeks, thank Merlin…_

Grimacing, he forced the disgusting mixture down in one gulp and leant back against the headboard with a sigh. He'd loved his mother very much but he wished she found time to do something about the taste.

Perhaps she might have done if…

_No. Not now_.

Shaking himself, Remus forced himself to think about something else but could find little else to dwell on but how dreadful he was feeling. He almost reached for his book but there seemed little point when in too short a time he would barely be able to read it. His bones throbbed, emphasising the imminence of his change.

Not long now.

Limping slightly, Remus pulled himself out of bed. He had been stationary too long and stiffness would only make the transformation worse. He needed to move around before he seized up completely.

Leaning forward, Remus rested his hands against the windowsill, gazing out blankly over the spread of landscape before him. The Forbidden Forest, its dark, gnarled hunkering trees blazing in the glow of sunset as though set aflame, the lake glistening and shinning in the retreating light. And further, nestled in a huddle of sloping Scottish mountains, Hogsmeade lay at rest, the crooked houses, the winding streets, the sickly glow over the rooftops…

_Sickly glow?_

Remus stared.

Remus froze.

And then his eyes widened with horror, his fingertips digging chunks from his window sill as the realisation of what he was seeing shockingly hit home.

Over Hogsmeade, the emerald Dark Mark gleamed.

For a moment, an icy, agonising, eternal moment, Remus could not move. And the glittering skull of the Death Eaters laughed at him.

But then he was running in spite of his dizziness, his pain, robes grasped from the back of a chair and dragged hurriedly on as he yanked open the door to his chambers and bolted in the direction of the Great Hall and Albus Dumbledore. This could not be allowed to happen. He had to raise the alarm before it was too late.

He could only pray he would have enough time.

**A/N**: -ducks behind the safety of her reviewer rage bunker with fitted anti-tomato shield- Well… meet evil cliffie number four. And you remember that run of six cliffies in a row I mentioned a while back? This would be the first. Brace yourselves…;)

**Reviewer Responses: **

**Jello** – ((((((Remus)))))) indeed. I would gladly volunteer too…:)

**superpan** – I love having Remus interact with the regulars too, especially the kids. Hermione is my next favourite after Remus so I'm glad you think I've got her right. That thing about the spells was just something that occurred one day. And I'm glad he didn't throw up too…;)

**mercat **– Thank you very much! :) As for the dizzy description – alas that is the result of long personal experience! I am one of those unfortunate folk who faints quite easily so I have a lot of memories to call on! :)

**binx3 **– Having done the fainting in the middle of a class thing myself (as a pupil, fortunately, though I did manage it _twice_…) a great deal of this chapter was alas drawn from memory! And thank you very much! :) I am considering writing more HP fic after this although it very much depends on finding the time these days, I'm afraid…:/ And please don't take it badly if I say I hope I can keep you guessing! :)

**The Thief Kuronue** – Soooo – you like angst then? ;) I like the idea of seeing how the teachers in the know see the Trio's inquisitiveness, Harry Potter from the other side as it were. :) I'm glad you're enjoying it. :)

**Howling Wolf 22** – As you can see, it was a safe bet that Snape would find a few sneers to mark the occasion. ;)

**Liv Naravul** – Thank you very much! And joint favourite! I'm flattered. :)

**KnightMara **– That sounds horrible! But I'm pleased the description was convincing – as I said, I have fainted in classes myself, though luckily only as a pupil. And mercy – eep. As the end of this chapter may show, I'm afraid mercy isn't on the agenda right now…;)

**BlackHorntailJunior** – I love Remus, but perverse as it sounds, itis more interesting to write him when he's under pressure. Sorry…..;) I wanted to show the children's concern – after all if your favourite teacher keeled over mid-lesson, wouldn't you be worried? :)

The next part will be along on Wednesday. :)


	27. Too Close to Home

**A/N**: And here it is – my personal favourite of the evil cliffies. ;)

_27: Too Close to Home_

A wave of chatter turned to sudden whispers. Several hundred pairs of eyes turned.

Remus was painfully aware of why his abrupt appearance in the Great Hall in the middle of Friday dinner had earned such attention. Deathly white, hair mussed by two days against a pillow, robes pulled haphazardly on and gait an uneven stumble of motion, he was certainly not looking at his best. Determinedly ignoring the stares and the ripple of murmurs, he hurriedly made his way down the centre of the room towards the staff table.

His arrival had not gone unnoticed by his colleagues either. Minerva McGonagall was staring at him with a mixture of confusion, exasperation and concern. Albus Dumbledore had already risen from his seat, his eyes alert but flicking almost unconsciously towards the darkening sky and impending moonrise beyond the windows. Severus Snape, his eyes narrowed, was regarding him with startled suspicion.

Remus reeled rapidly across the last few steps and all but slumped against the centre of the staff table, fingers digging in to the tablecloth as he struggled against the whirl of dizziness, the shiver of his bones and the increasing throb of his limbs. The gnarled hand of Dumbledore reached out to steady his shoulder as he met the blue-eyed gaze.

"What is it?" the headmaster asked softly.

"There's a Dark Mark over Hogsmeade." The words tumbled out between shuddering breaths. "I saw it out my bedroom window."

The silence in the Great Hall was deafening. It occurred to Remus a moment too late that perhaps he should have lowered his voice.

Dumbledore's eyes grew wide. A moment later, moving with an agility one would not expect of a wizard more than a century in age, he swivelled and strode towards the window. Snape, the suspicious sneer abruptly wiped, was sharply on his heels.

A rush of muttering and a sudden scrape of chairs implied a window-wards exodus was looming, but Minerva, her mouth a stern line had already risen to stem the tide of motion.

"_You will remain in your seats!_" The order was firm. "_Please_ wait where you are whilst we investigate this." Her eye caught at once upon one figure that did not seem inclined to obey. "That means _you too_, Mr Potter!"

Following her glare, Remus too caught Harry's eye. For a moment it seemed The-Boy-Who-Lived intended to disobey the command of his Head of House; but facing the disapproval of the last of his father's true friends as well, the Gryffindor sank reluctantly back into his seat at the House table. He did not look at all pleased.

Abruptly Dumbledore was back. His expression was grave as he beckoned his staff closer.

"Remus is correct," he stated without preamble. "There is a Dark Mark over the village, recently cast, and signs of continuing Death Eater activity on the streets. We must act swiftly. Hagrid."

"Aye?" The giant man stepped forward, bearded face a cocktail of anxiety and determination.

"Go at once to seal the gates and check the grounds for any sign of incursion. When you are done, return here and help watch the students."

The groundskeeper nodded fiercely. "Yer can count on me, headmaster!"

As Hagrid made hurriedly for the main doors, Snape turned abruptly on the older wizard.

"The gates are to be sealed?" he exclaimed incredulously. "Are we not going to the aid of the villagers, headmaster?"

Dumbledore met his stare coolly. "You will not be," he informed the Head of Slytherin. "You cannot afford to be seen fighting against Death Eaters, Severus. You will remain here with Hagrid and guard the children."

"Only two?" Minerva interrupted sharply. "You would leave only two to keep them safe?"

Dumbledore smiled slightly behind his beard. "There are many hundreds of wands in this room, Minerva," he pointed out gently. "And a good number of them are quite proficient at defending themselves – more perhaps than they should be. The castle itself will protect its charges and the Hogwarts house-elves will certainly fight willingly if summoned. Not to mention that Severus and Hagrid will provide excellent protection both physical and magical – against whatever may come."

His eyes flickered briefly to Remus. The younger man realised that he had not been alone in expecting that Kane might use the night of the full moon to strike.

Minerva was still frowning, but she nonetheless conceded on that matter. It did not however prevent her from raising another. "But Professor Snape's point remains – how are we to leave when Hagrid has sealed the gates?"

This time Dumbledore did smile. "There are more ways to leave this castle than by its gates. And more surprising ways to enter Hogsmeade. Remus? Any suggestions?"

Carving through the fuzz in his head, Remus wished fervently for his copy of the Marauder's Map. Unfortunately, he had nothing like the energy required to summon it all the way from his office, not to mention the fact that his wand was still sitting unhelpful and forgotten on his office desk. He had no choice but to attempt to think. Seven secret passages, four known to Filch, five of which led to Hogsmeade…

"There's a route from under the greenhouses that comes out in the woods behind Madam Puddifoots, not far from the Shrieking Shack," he managed hoarsely. "Plus there's a passage from that broom cupboard near the staff room that emerges in the well in the yard of the Three Broomsticks. And if you twitch the elbow of the largest suit of armour near the kitchens, it opens a panel to show a tunnel into the alley near Dervish and Banges. Mr Filch knows them all, I think, and the entrances into the village are well hidden from view."

A good half of the staff were staring at him in astonishment. Snape however, his eyes narrowed, did not seem at all surprised. Remus fought the urge to squirm slightly under their curious gazes.

Dumbledore nodded. "The broom cupboard and the suit of armour, I think. Minerva, if you would take a moment to contact the Aurors before joining us?"

Minerva nodded, aware of exactly which Aurors in particular she was supposed to contact. "Of course."

"The rest of you go." Albus commanded. "Argus Filch will show you the passages. I will speak with the children and follow by my own means."

By which, Remus was pretty sure, the headmaster meant he would travel by phoenix. He watched for a moment as Dumbledore strode to the front of the staff table and raised his hands sharply as he addressed the children. But his words drifted unheard past the almost stricken werewolf. His wand was still upstairs. And in less than half an hour he would have no opposable thumb with which to wield it. But a werewolf form under the control of a human mind – if he could find the strength to reach Hogsmeade, he was certain he could do some good…

He started to turn.

"Going somewhere Lupin?"

Snape. He hovered a few yards away, sallow face pinched and black eyes intense. Remus struggled to find the energy to meet his gaze but the pain in his limbs and the swirl in his mind was intensifying alarmingly. His wolfsbane-saturated body knew that moonrise was imminent.

The Head of Slytherin regarded him down the length of his hooked nose and snorted. "Look at the state of you. I suggest you use what strength you can muster to make your way safely back upstairs before you scare the students. Or were you planning that practical demonstration after all?"

The room was spinning and waltzing, a mass of colour and light that reminded him oddly of his tribute at the start of the year. It all seemed a very long time ago.

"I was going…" he stuttered. "The village… help them…"

Snape rolled his eyes elegantly. "I think _not_. A half-conscious werewolf is no use to anybody. Yet again you find yourself conveniently useless, Lupin. Transforming into a raging beast becomes a fine excuse to stay safe."

Remus would have gladly responded to the unfounded insinuation, driven, he suspected, by Snape's own sidelining and his discomfort at a potentially imminent encounter with a werewolf that had once come alarmingly close to eating him; but in that moment, a particularly violent shiver raced through his body, all but twisting his head from his shoulders in a flood of wooziness. He barely managed to cling to the table to avoid another undignified collapse before his pupils. Sickness rolled in his stomach, his mind raced and his emotions surged from misery to frustration to anger. He was ill, on the verge of an agonising transformation and with worries and feelings spinning turbulently through his mind that most people could not even comprehend. And Snape _would not shut up_…

For the Potions Master had either failed to notice his distress or simply did not care. "Nothing to say?" he taunted with a cold smile. "That brings back memories."

Remus grimaced and gritted his teeth, but his composure was eroding rapidly. "Not_ now_, Severus." he all but growled hoarsely. "I'm not in the _mood_."

But Snape only chuckled, an infuriating sound that set off sparks against the volatile flood in his colleague's mind. "Now, now, Lupin. It was merely an observation. No need to bite my head off."

It was the chuckle that did it. Inside the werewolf, something ignited. Slowly, darkly, his jaw set and his eyes icy, Remus raised his head and stared Severus Snape full in the face.

"I didn't." His glare drilled unrelentingly into the Slytherin, emphasising every word he spoke more out of the necessity of grinding them out than for any particular effect. "But give me twenty minutes and I'll _see what I can do_."

Snape's jaw dropped. Something shocked and unpleasant flashed behind his dark eyes.

"Professor Snape." Remus offered thanks to the Gods for Minerva's timely intervention – he was tore between an uncharacteristic burst of temper or quietly falling unconscious, and Snape's goading was not helping him to resist the former. "The headmaster needs a word with you."

Snape was still gaping at Remus, his mind clearly drifting towards a darkened tunnel and growling flash of teeth in the blackness. But at the sound of Minerva's voice, his mouth closed with a snap. He gathered himself sharply. "Of course," he replied a little too brusquely. Casting a final, unpleasant glance in the direction of Remus, he turned and strode away.

Minerva McGonagall regarded his sternly over her spectacles, the soot on her hat suggesting the all important floo call had been made. "Much as I hate to admit it, Severus made a good point," she told him. "You should be upstairs, Remus."

Remus shook his head, ignoring the minor explosions of dizziness this action ignited. "I want to come. Once the transformation passes, I'll be strong, fast, immune to magic, and after this bloody week of hell I'd better be in my own mind! I can help, Minerva!"

"No." Taking his arm firmly in her grasp, the Transfiguration Mistress turned him sharply around and half escorted, half-carried him across the Great Hall in the wake of the vanished teachers. "You're in no state. Go to your office and let it happen in private. If you later feel so inclined, patrol the corridors for intruders but _do not_ show yourself to the children. Death Eaters or not, they'll be an uproar if you do. Understand?"

Frowning and shivering almost uncontrollably, Remus just about managed to nod. There was no denying that he was getting worse. He could all but hear his blood racing through his veins as chilling fingers scraped his spine, shivering his body violently. His head swam and throbbed, his vision pulsing; meanwhile the ache in his limbs was joined by a steady pulse of pain across his ribcage. He felt on the verge of falling apart.

He glanced around. Nervous and anxious, the children were huddled at their house tables, pale faces and wide eyes sweeping towards the doorway and windows as though they expected a veritable hoard of Death Eaters to burst in at any moment. Dumbledore had vanished, presumably on his way to Hogsmeade courtesy of Fawkes as Severus Snape stalked before the staff table, snapping out orders at his students. A brush of cold air announced the return of Hagrid, stepping quietly inside as he pushed the main door firmly closed and decisively dropped the heavy bolts. The school was sealed shut.

Minerva was glancing anxiously. "I have to go. The internal passageways need sealing and then I have to help the fight." She fixed her pale and wilting colleague with an uncertain stare. "Can you make it upstairs by yourself? I could get Hagrid to…"

"No." Remus managed to cut her off. "I'll go to my office. It's closer. I don't need help."

Minerva looked uncertain but she did not argue. "Well, if you're sure…Take care Remus."

Remus nodded. "You too. Watch your back."

His former Head of House flashed him a brief smile. A moment later she was gone.

Composing himself stubbornly, Remus cast one last uncertain glance back towards the Great Hall where hundreds of voices clammered shrill and afraid, Severus Snape stalking the dais of the staff table at one end, Rubeus Hagrid lurking, hulking and determined at the other, guarding the main entrance and the young lives within. How could they expect him to hide away? He wanted to help, do something useful after a week of uselessness. Just watching over the children would have been enough…

_Watching over_.

Minerva had told him not to show himself. But there were more ways to watch than by looking.

_The Marauder's Map_.

Remus smiled to himself. When he'd made his copy from Harry's original, stored in the drawer of his office desk, he'd believed it might be useful. _This_ scenario had never occurred to him. But he had no intention of ignoring it.

Drawing himself up, Remus fought down the surges of ice and fire that rampaged the length of his body and moved as quickly as he was able up the stairs.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Five minutes_…

Maybe.

More or less.

Predicting the moment of his transformation was not an exact science. It varied in a most irritating manner – an odd combination of the relative times and positions of sunset and moonrise that was infuriatingly complicated to calculate with any accuracy. Remus, unsurprisingly never the keenest of astronomers, had long ago given up trying to tie his transformations to the clock and instead relied upon his own creeping sense of imminent change to predict exactly when the wolf would rise. It was a system that had been known to fail – as he had discovered to his cost at the end of his last year of teaching, a strong surge of adrenalin was enough to drown the familiar signals out. But unlike the calculations by the clock, which could only predict a window of ten or fifteen minutes, Remus could usually tell to less than a minute when it was time to bid farewell to his humanity.

It wasn't the pain that he judged by – indeed, in his current condition, he could not have established which aches were significant and which a side effect of his mild aconite poisoning in any case. It was more a _feeling_, impossible to accurately describe to anyone else but another werewolf, gathering in the last hours before moonrise; a stirring of the waiting wolf, a surge through his blood and a whisper like wind that breezed through his mind, growing in strength with each passing second and spreading slowly through his body in a rush of cold. With more than thirty years experience of reading its quirks and feeling its touch, Remus knew its patterns well.

_Four minutes_…

With a sign, he settled his pain-ridden body down on the rug beside his office fireplace, pulling the warm blanket he had donned a few minutes before more firmly around his body. His pyjamas and robes were gone, stripped off and folded neatly in a nearby drawer – there was no point to destroying perfectly good clothes in the process of transforming after all. The Marauder's Map rested on the floor beside him, neatly laid out and pinned in place by four stone paperweights, its emerald writing gleaming by firelight. Aside from a buzzing swarm of dots clustered together in the Great Hall, and his own dot, alone, at rest in its office, the map was still.

Good.

The first few minutes spent in his office had passed in fruitlessly staring out of the window towards the glow of Hogsmeade in search of some sign of the fate of his colleagues and friends. But the pain of standing in his weakened condition combined with his own dodgy vision had yielding nothing but frustration and vague colours – in the end he had abandoned his attempts to read the battle and curled himself up with the map by his fire to monitor the Hogwarts grounds for intruders. Thus far, there had been none.

_Three minutes_…

Perfunctorily he cast his eye over his map once more, searching the lawns, the edge of the forest and the Quidditch pitch for signs of invasion from without. But nothing moved, no dots lurked or lingered on Hogwarts hallowed soil, no Lestranges, no Macnairs, no Pettigrews. Remus felt himself breathe a sigh of relief. The school was safe for now…

And then he saw it.

One rogue dot.

It was easy to tell how he had missed it before, half-hidden, pressed in almost impossibly between the delicate trace outline of the school greenhouses and the thick dark boundary of the school walls, motionless, unmoving, unnaturally still. For a moment Remus squinted, unable to understand how a person could come to be half inserted through the castle wall, half within yet half outside. But then with a shock of ice, he realised.

The secret passage. The dot was several yards inside its mouth.

_Two minutes_…

Cursing his swirling vision, Remus struggled to focus. What did it _say_? _Bellatrix Lestrange, Peter Pettigrew, Abraham Kane, Lord Voldemort_… the possibilities were mind numbing. The name, what was the _name_…

His vision solidified. And there was the name.

Rubeus Hagrid.

Remus almost laughed out loud. _Hagrid_. And there, he'd been panicking like a child…

Wait.

Hagrid. How could it be Hagrid? Hagrid was _inside_. He'd watched him seal the door himself, and he had certainly not returned outdoors in the time that Remus had been map watching. And even if he had stepped back out before the map was opened…_why_? To stand statue-like in the mouth of a secret passage when he was supposed to be guarding the children?

Hagrid was a twitcher. Hagrid liked to pace. To see him so unmoving was almost to believe him…

A cold feeling was welling up inside of Remus' chest, a chill that had nothing to do with his imminent bout of lycanthropy. Perhaps the map was a bad copy after all. Perhaps he'd made a mistake.

Hagrid was in the Great Hall. He _had_ to be.

Abruptly he shifted his gaze to the almost impenetrable mass of black dots that represented the students of Hogwarts. He scanned the hoard with increasing frustration, but if Hagrid were amongst the masses of pupils, it would be near impossible to find him. _Unless_…

Snatching his wand quickly from the desk top, he touched it against the crisp clean parchment and spoke as precisely as he could.

"I am Moony. Do you know me?"

There was a moment's pause; with a flash of concern, Remus wondered if the hidden layers and personality spells had carried through the copying process in the way he had hoped. But then the emerald green script of the title faded as an achingly familiar handwriting, eternally unaffected by the tremor time and imprisonment would bring, scrawled its reply to his words.

_Mr Padfoot greets his would-be comrade and humbly requests that he prove it_.

It was Sirius who had insisted on the coding of the more intricate layers and abilities of their creation to guard against possible Slytherin theft – there were secrets to this map that Remus was sure even the Weasley twins had not uncovered. He remembered the quirks they had planted, the tricks and handy shortcuts they had inserted, four boys sat around a candle in their dormitory late at night, young, thoughtless and tragically unaware of what was to come. The sudden recollection of the password he had chosen made the moment all the more painfully nostalgic.

"Diana," he said softly.

Padfoot's handwriting rippled and faded – another streak of writing emerged in its place.

_Mr Prongs welcomes the estimable Mr Moony and asks what it is that he needs_.

Biting his lip firmly, Remus leaned closer to the map.

"Remove all persons below the age of nineteen," he said softly. "Show only the adults present."

Instantly the black swarm was gone. Two dots stood alone in the Great Hall.

Remus felt a rush of relief. There. It must be a mistake. Two dots.

Severus Snape and…

His vision focussed.

The world froze.

Severus Snape.

And _Abel Isaacs_.

Everything lurched back into horrible motion. 

Abel Isaacs.

Abraham Kane.

Locked in a room full of children. Under a rising full moon.

_Oh dear gods_.

He was moving instantly, map abandoned, hell, _blanket _abandoned, for there was no time for modesty when so many lives were at stake. He scrambled desperately at the study bolts with which he had so carefully sealed his office door, all but yanking it off his hinges in his efforts to remove it from his path. With a frantic yell of frustration, he hauled back the door and started to dive into the corridor.

A moment later he knew he was too late.

_Pain_.

It wracked his body with a sudden agonising spasm that all but drove him to his knees; only the sharp scrape of his fingernails into the doorframe prevented an instant collapse. For a half instant, he tried to regain his footing, tried to rush on, to help them, to _warn _them, to do _something_; but the second wave of agony struck relentlessly and sent him tumbling to the floor, his body shaking as a flood of ice and fiery anguished torture seared his helpless form from crown to sole.

_The change._

Time was up.

No! No, no, no_, no, no, no, NO!_

_Not now. Not again. Please not again!_

But there was nothing he could do. Nothing but endure the familiar burning ice, nothing but suffer as his body twisted and contorted and forced itself into a bestial form he despised at the worst of all possible moments.

Nothing but realise with cold horror that if he was changing, Kane must be as well.

Amongst the children.

_No more kids_.

It was the last coherent thought he managed before the torment of the change engulfed him and transformed him utterly.

**A/N**: Ah, my favourite cliffhanger….;) I've had this one in mind almost from the start and certainly it was one of the first ideas I developed for the present day part of this fic – hence the early introduction of Remus having a copy of the Marauder's Map way back in chapter four. See, I had a reason. :) Perverse as it sounds, I've been looking forward to writing this cliffhanger and the other very early idea that is at the end of chapter twenty-nine since I started. It was worth it. :) On a different note - The Marauder's Map. I always liked the idea that there was more to the map than even Fred and George would have uncovered and the idea that there were deeper layers that allowed you to be more selective in searching for someone was one I wanted to use. The fact that it was plot relevant was a bonus. :)

**Reviewer Responses:**

**Jello**: See, Remus isn't transforming in the middle of the Great Hall…. Kane is. ;)

**superpan**: Thank you. :) Snape is at his most fun when he's being vindictive. And I hope this cliffie is also suitably suspenseful…;)

**S.P.E.L.L**.: It was originally just three cliffies actually. But then I created a cliffie where there was none before and split two chapters in two…:) Thank you very much indeed! As for the rest… -flees for her anti-reviewer rage bunker-….;)

**TrinityDD**: Thank you very much! :)

**Howling Wolf 22**: See, it wasn't Remus transforming surrounded by a lot of people. It was Remus transforming whilst on his way to prevent Kane from transforming surrounded by a lot of people. Isn't that a relief? ;)

**Moony-Chan:** I dare not speak on the grounds I might incriminate myself or expose my true nature as an idiot…;) –raises an eyebrow- You appear to have a small evil streak there…;) Thank you very much for reviewing! :)

**This Parrot has ceased to be**: I look forward to your return! :)

**Dortha**: Yes, Reynard does indeed mean fox, although it also means wise, bold and courageous (I didn't know that when I picked it but it fits!). I was going for a canine theme. ;)

**Liv Naravul**: Since you love cliffhangers, does this make you happy? :) Thank you!

**aurelie1**: Thank you very much! Merci Beaucoup! I'm really glad you find the story original as that is one of my fic writing ambitions, not easy when so much has gone before! :) I like having Remus around the kids, especially Harry. :) Yes, Remus has taken his Wolfsbane so he will be in his own mind once his transformation is complete. But I'm afraid a Remus-Kane confrontation may be getting fairly unavoidable at this point….;) And your English is fine don't worry – I'm sure I couldn't type in French anything like as well! :)

**The Thief Kuronue**: Nope, not kidding. ;) I do like writing the little spats between Remus and Snape though. :)

**ELMTREE**: You're forgiven. :) Thank you very much! You know, before this fic, I wasn't much for cliffhangers, but I think I'm developing a bit of a feel for them…;) And honestly! –covers Remus' delicate little ears- ;)

**Malyficent**: Thank you very much! I have to admit I often avoid made up backstory fics myself but this idea just wouldn't leave me alone. :) The regular updates are a benefit of being well ahead in my writing (I'm currently writing the final chapter) – if I was trying to post as I wrote it would be much slower, believe me! Thank you again and good luck with your finals! :)

**RC Dreamer of Hope**: And now we have not one but two werewolves running around the halls. And yes, people will be freaked! I hope you're laughing now…;) And as it happens, I was just reading your stories before I went off to write this response! (I know, I'm a bad, lazy reviewer and an ungrateful excuse for an author for not reviewing – I apologise). I have to say the whole thing looks most different and intriguing and is moving in a direction I did not at all expect, especially after reading "Solace." I look forward to "Secrets Within"! :)

Thank you very much to you all! And to all of you lovely and nice new reviewers welcome! :) Thanks to you and my faithful regulars I now have an average of ten reviews per chapter thus far! ;) An odd ambition to hold, but what the heck…;)


	28. Liber Emitto

**A/N**: This chapter was originally the preliminary to what is now chapter 29, which I was convinced was going to be too short and hence padded here. But 29 got well out of hand, as did this preliminary. So now, it's a chapter in itself. :)

_28: Liber Emitto_

Confusingly, reluctantly, the world reeled back into a rather different kind of focus.

Remus staggered, struggling to come to grips with fur and muzzle, four legs and a tail, horizontal instead of vertical, the ways and means of manipulating this familiar yet unfamiliar body. The impact of a very different array of senses assailed him, the world around rewritten anew from a wolfish perspective, a flood of smell that dominated the input of sight and sound with disconcerting fervour.

Such simple things as movement, as perception of his surrounds would have come naturally to the mind of the wolf. They did not come naturally to Remus.

This was the great flaw of using Wolfsbane. The persistent human mind did not inherit the instinct of its wolfish counterpart upon being thrust into control of a four- legged shape. Everything about inhabiting the form of a werewolf had to be learned from scratch.

It had never been an issue before. It did not take a great deal of practice to learn how to curl a body in front of a fire and fall asleep.

But now…

There was no time to ponder it. That he had never taken much time to master full moon ways could not be altered now. He would just have to learn as he went and hope for the best.

Shaking himself uncomfortably, Remus scrambled awkwardly to his feet and started forward.

He fell over.

_Four legs. Four legs! Concentrate!_

Bloody hell. Kane was going to tear him to pieces…

But at least it would distract him from killing the kids.

His frown of concentration translated itself to a growl. With a surge of stubborn determination, Remus hauled himself onto all four paws and launched himself down the corridor.

The air reeked. The scent was pervasive, invasive, overwhelming but achingly familiar, setting off sparks against emotions that he didn't understand. It drifted, strengthening as he found his gait at last, hit his stride and hurled himself through passageways and down shifting stairs towards the Great Hall. He still felt ridiculously weak but given the effort of his recent transformation combined with his aconite overdose, this was hardly a surprise. Pulling on reserves of strength he had not even realised were present, coasting on adrenalin, he increased his speed still further and raced his way through the deserted school.

The smell was even stronger now, tangling through his senses like bittersweet yearning, repulsively addictive. In the distance, there was screaming.

The children. Alone but for…

_Gods, Severus, you'd better be protecting them_…

Severus. And the scent.

A flash of memory barely his own surged across his mind, drawn from wolfish moments witnessed passively but barely understood until now.

_A dark tunnel, shadowed and cold, a pallid, sallow face framed with stringy black hair gaping as another dark haired figure with glass for eyes dragged him backwards. And everywhere, burning, shivering, terrible and glorious, the bittersweet, delicious smell of…_

It was then that he realised.

The scent was _fear_.

The children were terrified. And the smell of that terror permeated the castle from turret to basement.

_Oh Merlin no_…

Screams rose in a powerful crescendo ahead as his footing finally faltered. The entrance hall opened before him as he tumbled his way down the last few steps, snarling with irritation as he dragged himself upright once more, his now golden eyes fixing at once upon the vast double doors that gave passage to the Great Hall of Hogwarts. They were closed.

And more than closed. He could _smell _the magic on them. Sealed and warded, the locks reeked of bitterness, cynicism, precision and pride. This was more than a simple _colloportus_; this was a spell that could only be released by the wand that cast it. And he knew the scent of Severus Snape anywhere.

Remus felt the growl rise in his throat in response to his surge of frustration. He could understand why firmly sealing the locks had seemed a good precaution with Death Eaters on the loose. But why, with the danger within, hadn't Severus released the doors and given the children room to run? Why couldn't he now get inside?

The screams were terrible. They tore at his mind.

Fury bubbled as his hackles rose. _Let me in! How can I help if I can't get in?_

He wanted to scream. Didn't Severus know _anything_? It was elementary! _Never_ trap yourself in without a way to _escape_…

_Escape… Guarding the retreat…_

Another memory, this time human rose within his mind.

_Guarding their retreat, they called it, ensuring their escape – with the Marauder's map now confiscated, good old guard duty was back in fashion. Crouching beneath the invisibility cloak in the shadows of the entrance hall, he watched as Wormtail the rat darted back and forth down the corridors in search of possible danger; behind him, James and Sirius laughed quietly between themselves, arms heaped with fireworks as Padfoot pressed one hand awkwardly to an engraved panel and grinned as it slid back…_

The gargoyle passage. Straight into the Great Hall. Of _course_…

Grinding his considerably sharper teeth, Remus hurtled across the entrance hall to a section of engraved wooden panelling that hung, innocent and still between two broad tapestries. With a half-leap, he pressed into a section of panel with his nose.

With a creak, the wood slid back. A dark, musty cobweb strewn hole opened out before him, curving left and slightly upwards. Shaking himself, Remus started to pull himself forwards.

"_Another _one? _Shoo!_ Begone, foul beast from Hell!"

A pearly flash of fury dashed across his vision as Nearly Headless Nick, his loose head wobbling dangerously surged in front of him, waving his hands in a threatening if entirely ineffectual manner.

Remus stared at the gesticulating ghost impatiently. The muffled screams echoed and ripped against his mind. _I don't have time for this_…

Bracing himself, he pushed forward and surged through the chill shiver of the ghost's insubstantial form, moving quickly into the passage beyond. Ignoring the protests that flurried from behind, the flashes of white as Nick hurtled in pursuit, he shouldered his way through the net like strands of cobweb, trying to ignore the uncomfortable twists as they tangled across his fur and muzzle and settled over him in sticky veils. Honestly, had acromantulas been living in this tunnel to make such hard work of it?

It was no use; he could barely open his jaws to breathe. Pausing a moment beside the entrance to the musty chute that gave hidden access to Hogwarts underground harbour, Remus made an awkward attempt to scrape the net of webbing from his face with his forepaw, thinking wistfully of long arms, opposable thumbs, brooms and possibly machetes.

"Hah! Thwarted in the act!"

If Remus could have groaned, he would have gladly done so. The sound that emerged, if it could be categorised, was a kind of mutated whimper.

Nearly Headless Nick swooped around him, harrying him as best he could without an actual physical presence, gesturing furiously as he pulled a vast array of faces that ranged from comical to simply bizarre. Scraping the last of the sticky web from his face impatiently, Remus rolled his golden eyes and surged forward once more. One more corner…

_Ow!_

The shock of the impact drove the werewolf back onto his hindquarters with a thump. His nose gave a sharp ache as the sting of barrelling headfirst into something fairly substantial registered with his nervous system. Rising awkwardly back to his feet, Remus squinted ahead into the darkness and felt his heart drop like a stone.

There was no light at the end of the tunnel. The round, porthole like opening that had lead out onto the balcony-like winged back of one of the Great Hall's magnificent stone gargoyles had gone. In the twenty years since his last visit, someone had found the entry and bricked it up.

_No!_

With a howl of frustration, Remus slapped his paws against the barrier, but there was no weakness, no rotten mortar, or crumbling bricks. The wall was sturdy and unbreakable. And he had no wand to pull it down.

The screams echoed from the beyond the bricked up opening. They seemed almost to hold a note of accusation.

Despair welled up in his chest as he stared, panting at the thick swirl of dust that coated the passage floor. _I tried. I really did_.

A soft cough, the clearing of a throat that no longer existed to be cleared, drew his attention upwards. Sir Nicholas was staring down at him with sudden realisation.

"Professor Lupin?" he said incredulously. "Is that _you_?"

Remus regarded the ghost with weary eyes. He nodded.

Nick darted forward, an anxious breeze of pearly mist with a desperate expression. "Do you have any idea how to open the Great Hall doors?"

Remus blinked. _What?_

Nick was wringing his ghostly hands. "The children cannot get out, you see! That _thing _knocked Professor Snape unconscious just before it…_changed_. And no one knows how he sealed the doors! Some of them have got out through the windows and the rest have managed to barricade themselves in the entrance using the House Tables but they cannot hold out much longer! I came out to see if there was anyone left in the castle that might know of a way…"

Remus missed the rest of the sentence as his mind raced, focussing on the shroud of magical scent that had cloaked the door so stubbornly. Snape had performed a wand seal – a spell to lock any entrance in such a way that only the casting wand could reverse it. It was one magical scent he knew well, for he had smelled its faded essence on every full moon that had passed in the Shrieking Shack; the odour of Dumbledore's precautions had lingered on every outside door and boarded window. And later in life, he had used it himself more than once to seal a room against the rising moon.

But how the _hell _was he supposed to tell that to Nearly Headless Nick?

With a frustrated huff, he scrabbled his paws impatiently along the floor, leaving long dark tracks in the dust.

_Wait_…

A sharp bark silenced Nick's anxious babble. It was too dark here. But back near the entrance hall…

Abruptly Remus span about and sped back through the shredded cobwebs. It took moments to cover the ground he had so struggled with before, cantering to a halt on the dusty floor where light spilled in a rough pool through the still open panel of wood. After a moments search he found a patch that had not been disturbed.

Fortunately Nick had followed, hovering to a halt with a puzzled expression as he watched Remus bend forward over the dust-ridden stone. With an awkward forepaw, he scraped a word.

SNAPE

Nick's white brow furrowed. "But he's out cold. Not even _enervate_…"

But his words trailed away. Remus was still writing.

WAND

The ghost frowned. "Wand? What do you mean by…" Abruptly, his pale eyes lit up. "Professor Snape's wand? They need to use Professor Snape's wand?"

Remus nodded firmly as Nick's head flew up with such speed, it half toppled from his body.

"Right!" he exclaimed. "I'll go straight…"

For the second time, a frantic bark from Remus cut him off. He stared at the scrabbling werewolf once more. "But I thought…"

Two words emerged crookedly from the patterns of dust once more.

LIBER EMITTO

The ghost nodded in understanding. "That's the spell they need, yes?"

At the werewolf's emphatic nod, there was no more delay. In a flash, Nearly Headless Nick had surged through the wall and was gone.

Shaking himself free of the last of the restrictive webs, Remus pulled himself back out of the hidden passage and paced into the entrance hall.

The screams had not abated; if anything, they were intensifying. He could only hope that the cries that filled the air were those of fear and not of pain.

_Curse you Kane. Why is it always children?_

"_Liber Emitto!_"

Hermione Granger's voice pierced even louder than the screaming; with a flare of blue the doors crashed apart and unleashed a scene of chaos.

Bracing himself as best he could, Remus forced down his anxious fear and the weak spasms of his still fragile body and cloaked himself with every scrap of strength and courage he could muster. There could be only one werewolf in Hogwarts.

He intended to make sure that it was him.

This was going to end. One way or another. Once and for all.

Enough was enough.

And then, with a growl, he hurled himself into the fray.

**A/N**: The idea of using a ghost as a messenger was one that demanded to be used. And really, it had to be Nick. :) I would also like to offer my humblest apologies to any Latin scholars reading this: needless to say, I do not speak Latin. The phrase/spell "Liber Emitto" is a combination of stealing phrases from Henry Beard's humorous "Latin for All Occasions" (the only book I have ever found that includes the Latin for Astroturf ;)) and searching online Latin-English Dictionaries for appropriate words. The basic root intent is **Liber** – to free, and **Emitto** – to release. In other words, to release the doors and set them free. I hope. :)

**Reviewer Responses**:

**RC Dreamer of Hope** – I think some manner of fight may just be in the offing…:)

**Moony-Chan** – I wrote this chapter several weeks ago so I beat you by a little bit…;) And ummm…. –backs slowly away from Moony-Chan- That's… nice. –chucks a chapter in Moony-Chan's direction and runs away- ;)

**S.P.E.L.L.** – Thank you very much! Kane is a bit evil, isn't he? And yes, Remus does need hugging but you can't keep him forever and ever because I claimed him first…;)

**Liv Naravul** – I would let that breath out before doing a happy dance or the consequence might be disastrous… ;)

**bookworm-jill** – Oh dear me - I really hope you've got in by now. :) It is so irritating when that happens isn't it? I have trouble getting into new chapters on FFN all the time so I'll take this opportunity to pass on a couple of tricks I've picked up. One thing worth trying is clicking on other chapters in the fic – for some reason, on some chapters you can get to the new chapter and on some you can't and there is no logic or order to which it works for. Just keep an eye on the update date per chapter – if it's not the last couple of days, you won't findthe new partbut if it is you should, if that makes sense. The other way, which I have found in the last few days and works far better, is to go up to the URL scroll bar on your browser – you'll see the URL for the first chapter of the story. There should be a number one between two slashes at the end – if you then type over that one and replace it with the number of the chapter you can't get to it should take you there. I hope that helps. :)

**a happy bibliophile** – Thank you very much indeed! :) What lovely comments. :) And thank you for the theoretical hug. ;) This fic has about seven weeks worth of posting material left at current rate – I am presently writing the final chapter which numbers at 42, so you've a little while to go yet. :) And I think you may have caught my sneaky trick ;) in which case – check the description again. Who's to say Remus didn't sense it and just not realise what he was feeling? ;) And yes that is a typo. Doh! :)

**Lucathia Rykatu** – I think I've said that when I originally had the idea for this fic it was just the flashback, but as you say, I realises it would be more likely to be read with present day Remus involved. :) Rey will indeed be back but alas Diana wont be. :( Thank you very much regarding Kane – I do prefer baddies who aren't just evil for the sake of being evil but have some kind of history behind it. :) I think I said the dizziness chapter was written from personal experience…;) And I'm glad my review ambition doesn't seem odd! And I'm very grateful to know that you exist and thank you very much for telling me! Good luck with your finals! :)

**Jello **– Well as you can see, things are afoot. :) Though I shall not say more for fear of incriminating myself…;)

**superpan** – It was a rather fine excuse for a cliffie wasn't it? –g- I've always assumed there must be more to that map than meets the eye. And I know what you mean about Dumbledore and the map but then if that happened, as you say, the plot would be rather ruined for JKR…;) Hagrid's fate will be discovered in chapter 32. :)

**The Thief Kuronue **– Because I'm deeply evil? Oops, did I say that out loud? ;) And here is more posting…;)

**JennyJoy4** – Do you really know it will work out all right? –cackles evilly- Abraham and Isaac – well it was along the same lines as Kane/Cain and Abel really and all comes down to a line I used in chapter 15 – "I shall be the striker of the blow and not it's victim." Just as Cain struck down Abel, Abraham was also tested by God when he was asked to (and almost did) strike down his son Isaac. It's all about being the one wielding the weapon as opposed to being on the receiving end as reflected by Kane's obsession with his own power. Basically, I just looped in a couple of biblical parallels to foreshadow with...;)

**Clam Chowder** – Thank you very much. And stay tuned indeed….;)

**Howling Wolf 22** – Well, you weren't quite right but a fight may just be pending next time…;)

**aurelie1 **– The manner of Kane's entry shall be addressed in the future. For now it's a little mystery for you to work out! ;) I think it is a good thing too that Remus was still about but as for the rest – again I can say nothing for fear of self incrimination... ;) And thank you very much for reviewing! :)

**Neoma** – But if I suffer eternally in an awful place I won't be able to finish posting the story…;) Thank you very much! :)

Thank you all for reviewing and the next chapter will be with you on Wednesday! :)


	29. The Alpha of Hogwarts

**A/N**: I have nothing to say other than Please Don't Hurt Me(!) before I retreat to the safety of my deeply buried, titanium lined anti-reviewer rage bunker and wait in dread...

_29: The Alpha of Hogwarts_

Children.

They were everywhere, all around him, swathed in odours of fear, confusion and terror so potent as to almost knock him backwards, a swarm of robed figures hurtling across the entrance hall, tearful and screaming, dishevelled and wide eyed, the thunder of their footsteps powerful enough to tremble the ironbound silver chandeliers overhead. There was blood, a little, but no more than scratches as far as he could tell. If there were bites, he would never forgive himself.

Quite where this sudden interpretation of his senses was coming from, he was not sure. But now was not the time to question it.

Although there seemed to have been some superfluous attempt to evacuate the youngest first, it had quickly fallen by the wayside – students streamed out indiscriminately, some fighting each other to gain the freedom of the open hall, the escape of the stairs. He caught a glimpse of a pale and panting Draco Malfoy slapping his way past a cluster of third year Hufflepuffs and fought a furious urge to bound over and snap at him.

He was seen of course – indeed, as he surged forward towards the doors against the tidal flow of black robes, a lean grey werewolf in a field of children, he was rather hard to miss. Some few screamed and darted hurriedly aside but many more, after a moment's start, nodded in recognition, mutters of "_Lupin_" and "_potion_" and "_just like Nick said_" revealing that the Gryffindor ghost had found a moment to expose the source of his knowledge of _Liber Emitto_. Though the frightened mass seemed wary, he was not hindered.

At last, he managed to shoulder his way forward enough to catch a good glimpse of the Great Hall. The windows beyond the staff dais had been smashed, presumably by those few children lucky enough to reach them before Kane's transformation had completed. As for the rest, the four vast House tables, not to mention the Staff table and several of the benches had been turned on their sides, stacked high and magically bound together to form a sturdy barricade that had enclosed the broad steps that dropped down from the doorway in a wide alcove to spread across the edge of the Great Hall. Broken off chair legs, cutlery, plates and pieces of wood were piled high as a cluster of defenders, most notably the older members of Harry's DA, the Prefects and many of the sixth and seventh years alternated between levitating and physically hurling the debris over their barrier to where the wooden planks were splintering against repeated, violent impacts from beyond. A seventh year Slytherin from a vantage point halfway up the steps moved to aim his wand directly at the source of the damage, but a sharp haranguing from several of the sixth years convinced him not to waste his energy. Direct magic on a werewolf was useless.

_And I taught them that. Good kids!_

Finally, the last of the masses shouldered their way through the great doors to spill into the Entrance Hall, shoed along rapidly by several anxious ghosts. Exchanging hurried looks and fearful glances in the direction of the dangerously spitting wood and the flash of teeth beyond it, the defenders of the barricade abandoned their posts and fled in pursuit of their schoolmates.

Remus bounded forward at once as a particularly violent blow split the planking of the table, a large and alarming crack splintering like lightning across the wooden surface; abandoning all pretence at human dignity, he barked and snapped a hurry up in the direction of his pupils. Hermione stumbled into the entrance hall grasping two wands in her hand, her robes and hair askew and a long scratch staining her cheek and forehead scarlet; she flashed a quick and grateful smile in the direction of her currently lupine professor before swivelling on her heel to frantically beckon to her friends.

There was another alarming crack. An ominous growl echoed through rafters cloaked in illusory night sky.

The rising full moon gleamed.

"The _doors_!" Hermione rushed forward as the last of the stragglers, namely Ron, Harry, Ginny, Dean and Neville stumbled the final few steps into the entrance hall. "_Close the doors!_"

Lingering figures rushed to help, grasping the wide flung doors alongside the six from Gryffindor and heaving the solid weight of ancient wood back towards closure. The pervasive scent of the terrified children had cleared slightly as the mass of students scattered into the castle beyond; now the predominant smells were the sweat and emotions of this cluster of teenagers, the wild fury and bloodlust of Kane, and a distant familiar hint of…

Remus glanced around. He was near. He could smell him, that same well-known if not particularly well-liked odour, but no longer steeped in magic or fear; indeed it lacked in emotion altogether, to lie still and base and tinted along the edges with blood and pain. And then he realised. The smell was drifting from beyond the closing doors.

Nick had said that Severus Snape had been knocked unconscious.

Oh no.

But surely someone would have thought to…

_Bugger!_

Darting forward to the edge of the narrowing gap, Remus quickly glanced down at the tumbling barricade, sweeping his eyes over the splintering wood, the snap of jaws beyond a slumped pile of black cloth and…

Black cloth.

A pile of it. With a head of greasy hair.

_Oh gods. _

For a brief moment, a part of Remus was tempted to not to intervene. But it was, alas, an extremely small part.

Shaking himself, the werewolf surged forward through the almost sealed slit of the doors and plunged sharply down the steps.

"Professor Lupin!" Harry's cry reverberated behind him as he skidded to a halt beside Snape's slumped and motionless form, his pallid features even paler than normal as a trickle of blood seeped from his skull. With as much care as he dared have time to take, Remus clamped his jaws around the scruff of Snape's robes and, ignoring the deeply unpleasant sensations of taste and smell that swamped his mouth and nose, he turned and began to drag his colleague's limp dead weight of a form laboriously back up the steps.

Snapping bursts of wood sounded in terrifying proximity. A silver streaked muzzle snapped its way through the heavy oak like deadwood to expose a sight that came _literally_ from the younger wolf's worst nightmares.

Knowing that Kane the feral had bitten him was one thing. Seeing that same wolf again was quite another.

Golden eyes met golden eyes. The bright glare of the Great Hall seemed almost to melt into dark woods, bitter cold and pain.

Inside of Adult Remus, Three-Year-Old Remus was screaming. And borne by the power of the moment, by the strength of recollection, his wolf tore at his Wolfsbane fuelled domination and scratched for freedom against his mind.

Lost in the terrors of the past, in the turmoil within his own head, Remus froze in his tracks.

And Kane's eyes glinted in triumph.

"_Snape!_ We forgot Snape!" Hermione's horrified distant gasp from somewhere behind smacked sharply against his consciousness like a glass of cold water from Poppy Pomfrey's hand, accompanied by a muffled and uncharitable mutter that sounded suspiciously like "Let it have him!" from Ron. Wrenching his eyes away from the hypnotic glare of the older wolf and the echoes of his past, Remus struggled back into motion and resumed his awkward rescue even as Kane, snapping and snarling, fought to shoulder his way though the last of the flimsy and shattered wood that blocked his path. A clatter of footsteps announced that duty had won out over dislike for his pupils also; a cluster of hands appeared to grab hold of the Potion Master's long black robes as Harry, Ron, Neville and Ginny each grasped their least favourite teacher by the nearest available limb, snatching him from Remus' grip as they hauled him unceremoniously back towards the top of the steps and the frantically gesticulating Hermione.

An explosion of splinters and a ferocious howl of triumph announced that their time had run out.

With a furious heave, the four Gryffindors all but flung the limp form of Severus Snape through the gap in the doors as they dived back into the entrance hall. Haring in pursuit, Remus hurled himself awkwardly after them, skidding sharply on the well-worn floor as he lost his balance and tumbled head over heels into the chamber beyond to land at the feet of a slightly shocked Dean Thomas. Staggering upright, he caught a glimpse of Harry thrusting himself against the still slightly ajar left hand door as he tried to use the force of his weight to slam it closed once and for all.

Kane was heavier.

The-Boy-Who-Lived was thrown violently backwards as the door catapulted open with the full force of a feral werewolf's charge.

The screams echoed once more as most of the helpful souls who had lingered behind in order to offer aid, scattered like birds into the castle beyond.

The werewolf that was Abraham Kane pulled himself upright with a shake, long claws flexing, the silver streaked fur of his neck and muzzle littered with splinters of wood, his golden eyes ablaze and fixed with relish upon the prostrate and disorientated form of Harry Potter. He braced to pounce.

Remus didn't even hesitate.

He could hear Hermione's scream of horror as he hurled himself forward, aware subconsciously of the dozen or so teenagers that remained as they gaped in shock and terror, too slow, all too slow. Kane launched with ferocious single-mindedness into his attack, leaping through the air with claws extending and maw gaping wide with the intent to slice to ribbons the pale, dark-haired frozen boy who lay shocked and gasping as he realised the danger too late.

He was totally unprepared for the stunning impact that hurled him from his target and flung him to the floor in a tangle of furred limbs not all his own.

Remus winced as the pain of his frantic charge and slamming head on blow shuddered through his limbs and muzzle as he scrambled awkwardly clear of the other werewolf and braced himself for retaliation. He had to say this much though; for a decent turn of speed and force you couldn't beat an overdose of adrenalin.

"Run!" The echoing cry belonged to Ginny Weasley; risking a quick glance over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of the remaining kids, Ron and Neville dragging a slightly bemused Harry to his feet as other DA members who had not yet made a getaway reluctantly heaved the still torpid form of their Potions Master to their shoulders and staggered towards the stairs. Good! Now all he had to do was hold Kane off for a minute or two…

Pain rocketed through his body as he was slammed to the stone, teeth flashing and snapping at his face, his neck; it was only by a lucky, desperate swipe with his forepaw that he avoided the raw and abrupt dissection of his jugular. A streak of agony down his back thigh told him that first blood again belonged to the feral; piling all the strength he could muster into his back legs, the werewolf kicked out viciously to hurl Kane's heavy form back against the nearby wall. Panting, shaking and breathing hard, his back leg streaked scarlet and throbbing painfully, he dragged himself upright and turned to face the next attack.

Kane was not there.

Behind him there were screams.

_No!_

Wheeling round, he caught of sight of the powerful form of the other werewolf as he thrust himself across the entrance hall towards the struggling band of children and their unwieldy black robed load.

It was immediately clear that they would not make the stairs in time. And even if they could, what would be the benefit? The position was barely more defensible than the hall unless they could gain a good two flights and get a couple of moving staircases between themselves and the feral. And even then werewolves could leap…

Desperately Remus hurled himself in pursuit, but he knew even as he did that he would arrive too late.

The bleakness of their situation had dawned on the children too. It was Harry who acted most quickly, rushing quickly to stand between his friends and the charging wolf as Hermione snatched an unwieldy battle mace awkwardly from a nearby suit of armour and thrust it into his hands, before palming a smaller mace for herself.

The weapons could barely be lifted.

_Oh no. Please no!_

Kane was almost on them.

Frantic, terrified and desperate for any kind of distraction, Remus did the only thing he could think of.

He howled.

It wasn't the prettiest of sounds, ragged by means of his breathlessness, awkward and fairly tuneless, its echo bouncing from wall to wall with an unpleasant clash of harmonics. But miraculously, it _worked_.

Kane turned his head at this primal challenge. And an adrenalin-fuelled Harry struck.

It was a blow worthy of Diana or Reynard Lupin.

The feral crashed to the ground with a whine of pain, struggling on the floor as he fought to orient himself but a moment later he was reeling again as Hermione flung her weapon with all the force she could muster and bounced it spectacularly off his skull. He tried to rise, staggering awkwardly and teetering for a moment as he bared his teeth at the retreating children. But then, at the impact of Ron's forcefully flung helmet, he slumped inelegantly to the floor and gasped for breath.

But this was no victory. Painful experience told Remus that a feral could not be kept down for long.

The stairs were still too far, too much of a risk especially whilst dragging the unconscious Head of Slytherin along with them. The entrance to the Great Hall was closer but still snarled up with the barricade – Kane would be on them long before any realistic dash for the smashed windows could be made. But beyond the suit of armour, between two heavy tapestries, lay an engraved panel of wood…

_Yes!_

The Great Hall entrance was bricked up, it was true. But the kids had wands, and failing that there was always the chute halfway down that dropped straight into the safe haven of Hogwarts secret harbour. Surely no one would have bothered to brick up _that_…

Changing direction abruptly in mid-stride, Remus scrambled over to the wooden panel and for the second time that evening, pushed his nose against the release. With a click, the panel slid smoothly back; turning instantly, Remus abandoned his human dignity once more as he sent up a raucous string of barks.

The kids caught his meaning at once. Dragging Snape rather insensitively by his feet, they charged en masse for the dark entrance in a wordless rush and bolted one by one into the newly appeared hole.

Harry had paused at the entrance, side by side with Neville as he helped his friends manhandle Snape hurriedly over the raised lip of the tunnel. Nodding once to his old friend's son, Remus turned to check on Kane.

He saw a face full of teeth. At close range.

"_Professor Lupin!_"

The cry was the last thing he heard as a ball of silver fury engulfed his world, a tempest of snapping teeth and slashing claws that battered him over backwards in a whirl of bruising, piercing pain. Fear, agony and adrenalin overwhelmed him in an instant, shockingly fuelling an instinctive fight-back as his stunned mind yielded to _anything _that would keep him alive – he lashed out with a growl, hacking at the feral's muzzle with claws of his own as he surged back to his feet, lunging with his jaws agape to meet the other werewolf's thrust in a titanic crash of teeth. Momentum deflected by the impact, the two wolves staggered back, circling instinctively as hackles rose and low growls whispered from their throats.

He assessed his opponent. Silver streaked fur coated a sturdy, muscular form, compact and powerful, broad of jaw and long in tooth. Despite his older years, the feral's experience in such matters was far superior, his stamina undiminished by age or illness. On the other hand, he himself, though younger and rangier than the elder wolf, was lean and lacking the strength, speed and finely honed instincts that would be necessary to an emphatic victory. His recent sickness had not contributed much to his physical condition.

But he was determined. He would not fall.

_My school. My territory_. _This is going to end_.

Without warning, the feral struck, a slashing thrust with claws extended that caused him to dodge agilely backwards, ducking under the swipe and surging forward with an attack of his own that scraped the shape of teeth into the feral's upper foreleg. Howling with pain, the rejoining slap of paw and claw sliced parallel lines of agony down his side –with a yelp he darted backwards, circling once more as the feral ducked his head, limping slightly as his growl dropped into a yet more ominous register.

The feral was good, as he'd suspected. He was strong, powerful and quick to react – a fine hunter and a vicious fighter, worthy of respect. He would have to take care.

An opening! He darted in sharply, snapping his jaws at his opponent's neck with vicious force, missing a battle-winning crunch of windpipe by scant millimetres. The feral's injured leg deflected the force of the blow as he twisted out of the deadly assault and lunged in for an attack of his own, missing responding in kind by a very a similar margin. Both reared instinctively to block each others slashing blows, thrusting the other away to tumble and roll back onto all fours and step once more into the wary pace of circling.

Golden eyes met golden eyes. Hackles bristled. Teeth gleamed.

In the corner of his eye, there was movement. Pale upright forms, three or four at least, gathered in a cluster at the edge of his vision, pressed against the dark opening of the wall, glancing uncertainly amongst themselves and muttering, snatches of their oddly familiar words drifting in echoes across the hall to shudder in his ears.

"…can't just leave him!"

"He's doing this so we can escape! We have to go or what's the point?"

"But he'll be killed!"

"Harry's right, we have to do something…"

"Like what? Let it choke to death on our bones?"

"Just stop being so negative and think of something useful!"

"Wait! I think I know…"

Disdain welled up inside of his mind. _Pathetic_. Witless, boneless, spineless… Why did he waste his time with them, trying to be like them? He was stronger than them, better than them, all of them. They had no power on their souls, no truth or understanding of their weak and feeble existence – why he had more in common with the feral than he ever wanted to have with them! At least the feral could be respected.

Why was he wasting his time fighting one of such strength, such power, when there was _easier, better, weaker _prey to be had…

The thought hovered. It burned against his mind.

And realisation struck.

_No!_

Remus recoiled in horror from himself, staggering backwards with shock as he thrust the terrible thought and the power and strength it had saturated his body with back into the deepest recess of his mind. What was he _thinking_? How had he managed to lose himself so thoroughly in the fight that the wolf had crept into control? The adrenalin drained from his body instantly, clarifying the moment; in his fear, his shock at Kane's vicious attack he had reached out for anything that would help him in this unfamiliar body…

And the wolf had answered the call.

And he had let it.

And it was still there, scratching for freedom, howling in his brain. He could feel its violent yearning as it surged forward in a terrible onslaught and wrestled against the tang of wolfsbane to regain control once more and reign supreme as was its right from time immemorial beneath the glowing full moon.

Consumed by the battle within, the battle without was forgotten.

The pain was a sharp reminder.

His stomach exploded with agony as the feral Kane's claws sunk into his vulnerable underbelly and sliced open his skin. A second blow hurled him backwards, slamming against the stone floor in a bruising blow. The scent of blood, his own blood filled his nose, repulsive and delicious, calling to the wolf as his own mind reeled and shrieked in horror.

He was dying.

He knew it. His wolf knew it.

The familiar black sparkles were circling his eyes like vultures. They echoed with ominous depth.

And the wolf was raging. Such injuries were nothing to it; it had inflicted worse upon itself in its time. It had the instinct. It had the power. It could _still win_.

If he let it.

He couldn't though. He couldn't.

Could he?

Kane was advancing, weaving towards him, mocking him as he managed to stagger to his feet, backing away as he dripped blood in a steady, dangerous trail that spread out to mark his wake, stretching from a scarlet pool were he had lain moments before. Pausing with a deliberate cock of the head, the older werewolf bent his head and languidly lapped at his blood.

Was that what he wanted to be?

Perhaps he could hold it, channel it somehow, use the instincts but not the bloodlust. He would, could not let it take control. But just to allow it to help him, to get back that instinct, that edge that had allowed him to put up at least a show of a decent fight, to hold his own, to give himself just a chance at survival…

_No_.

His survival could not come at that price. And his brush with the wolf moments before had taught him well. The wolf might have the power to stop Kane, but he knew, just _knew_, that it would not.

It would turn around and help the feral to hunt and kill the children.

That was the nature of the werewolf.

Death it was then.

He was trembling like a leaf in frantic gales, bleeding profusely and losing his battle with conscious. Kane's next rush would finish him. He did not have the strength left to fight back.

And Kane knew it. His golden eyes gleamed with victory, his cocky stance arrogant and supreme, the feral bared his teeth in a mockery of a grin and launched his final deadly charge.

Remus closed his eyes. In a moment, it would all be over.

Once and for all. Just as he'd sworn.

_But I didn't think it would be like this_.

_I'm sorry, dad. I'm so sorry_.

Claw scrapes rushing closer. He braced himself for pain and silence.

But it never came.

There was a shout. A snap. A whistling noise. A rush of light.

And then an ear-splitting crash shook the rafters and trembled the ground, echoing from side to side in harmony with the agonised screech of terribly injured wolf.

Remus opened his eyes.

And stared in pure disbelief.

The werewolf that was Abraham Kane lay crushed, bleeding and unconscious beneath the mighty fallen wreckage of one of the entrance hall's ironbound silver chandeliers. And staring at the carnage, eyes wide and shocked at his own daring, wand still extended in a shaking hand, was none other than Neville Longbottom.

There was a moment of stunned silence, broken only by the clattering spiral of a piece of broken silver spinning to its rest and the slow settling of twisted metal over the motionless body of a defeated werewolf.

Kane had fallen. Kane was still.

It was over. It was _over_.

And they had _won_.

And then the stupefied tension broke. A grinning Harry Potter slapped his hand down on Neville's shoulder with a sudden, slightly hysterical laugh. Ginny Weasley, mouth agape gave a sudden victorious whoop. Ron Weasley, his red hair dishevelled, stepped forward, apparently unaware of the death grip in which he had grasped the hand of Hermione Granger as he stared down at the debris and their prone attacker with utter astonishment.

"I do not _believe_ that just worked," he said.

A tentative grin began to spread its way across Neville's plump cheeks as he glanced over to the battered form of his wolfish Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and shrugged awkwardly.

"Well," he muttered shakily. "Professor Lupin did say it might stop a werewolf if you hit it hard enough with a large lump of silver."

If Remus had been capable of smiling, his grin would have stretched from ear to ear.

He glanced down. There really was an awful lot of blood around his feet…

The black sparkles surged in triumph. The wolf shrieked. His legs buckled.

_Oh no. Not again_.

"Professor Lupin!"

_No more. No more battles. No more pain. _

He could hear the clatter of sudden footsteps charging over the stone floor in his direction. He also knew that they were destined to be too late.

_It's over_. _It's done. _

The wolf was clawing at his weakness, fighting for control. And in that moment, all he wanted was his freedom. Thirty-four years of fighting to stay himself was enough.

Death was better than letting it win. And his strength to fight was gone.

_Rest in peace, mum_. _Forgive me, dad._

Remus Lupin let go.

The ground rushed up to meet him as the darkness engulfed him and decisively swallowed him whole.

**A/N**: -peaks out briefly from the safety of her bunker, lurking securely behind a heavy duty anti-riot shield- Sorry...

On another note - Neville and the chandelier. The chandelier is the other idea that came to me right at the very start; quite why dropping a chandelier on a rampaging werewolf latched itself so enthusiastically in my brain is a mystery to me but it was inescapably there and therefore had to be done. But I did not pick _who_ exactly would do the dropping until I wrote "The Werewolf Lesson" and made the silver joke and my brain abruptly erupted with an interesting idea that meant Neville would get a much deserved moment of glory. :) Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going back into hiding for Christmas or until I'm sure it's safe...

**Reviewer Responses**:

**JLewk** – Thank you very much for the Latin check – that was really interesting! It's reassuring to know it was reasonably accurate. :)

**The Thief Kuronue** – I like the idea of the ghosts being useful. And ummm… are you still so keen on the idea of the werewolf fight? ;)

**Neoma **– Why do I get the feeling you might not be so lenient on me this time? ;)

**RC Dreamer of Hope** – Of course it had to be Hermione. Who else? ;) And yes, I do read your stories but I am, it shames me to say, a terribly inconsistent reviewer. I'll try to do better from now on….:)

**bookworm-jill** – I'm glad you got in. Thank you! :)

**Moony-Chan** – This one is rather longer. Is that better? ;)

**Howling Wolf 22 **– Well you guessed right about Remus getting beaten up! But I'm not sure that'll make you happy….;)

**Jello** – And another damn cliffhanger… Sorry…

**Liv Naravul** – And there is the fight. Please don't hate me….

**InsaneMonkeyPirate** – Ummm… -runs away- ;)

**Ziptango** – Thank you very much indeed! I'm very flattered! :)

**KnightMara** – I have no idea howI do it. I was never much for cliffhangers before this story. And now I've come to this! ;)

Due to the fact that next Saturday is Christmas Day and I will be busy cooking veggies and nattering with relatives, the next part will be posted next Sunday (Boxing Day). Apologies for breaking off for an extra day on this note - it honestly wasn't intentional, this is just how it's fallen! Have a Merry Christmas everyone! :)


	30. Part Four: A Wolf at Rest Under the Mo...

**Part Four: A Wolf At Rest**

_30: Under the Moon_

High above Winter Hollow, the full moon gleamed. To the pain that its presence inflicted upon an unfortunate few, it remained blissfully oblivious.

Washed in moonlight, snapped at by the bitter cold of autumn night, his breath a cloudy shiver in the air, Reynard Lupin sighed.

He hated these nights, hated knowing that somewhere beneath the silver stained stare of a bloated moon, his only child was being contorted agonisingly into a form unrecognisable as either the little boy he had raised or the fine man his son had grown into. He hated to think of his Remus out in the world, alone and in pain. And he truly loathed knowing that there was absolutely nothing he could do to help him.

The bite of chill wind against his cheek whispered of a distant hint of morning frost and creaked his aging bones. Wincing at the ripple of old pain that travelled through his crippled leg, he leaned harder against his cane as he pushed closed the rickety door to the crooked lean-to propped up against the rear of his home. A mixture of animated chattering and sleepy chirps marked the presence of his recently fed menagerie, the watery burp of a tank dwelling old grindylow mingling strangely with the chittering of his recently acquired nest of billywigs. A flick of his wand magically sealed the padlock against potential escapes – his old colleague Riever had not been impressed when he was called out to the nearby village at Devil's Bridge to catch the wild-eyed kneazle that was terrorising a farmer's sheepdogs after Rey had failed to double check the locks one night – and then pulling his cloak tight against the ravages of approaching winter, Rey hurriedly limped his way down the darkened path and pulled himself up the rear step into the kitchen.

The house itself was eerily silent, only the distant crackle of the living room fire providing any accompaniment to the uneven tap of his footsteps as he moved through into the hallway and hung his cloak up on its hook. He glanced around the dimly lit familiarity of his long time home, the ghosts of distant memories and faces now departed, aged or lost forever haunting every corner, every stone like half-heard echoes or faded dreams. But now there was no one here but him.

It did not have to be this way – he knew that. Many times old friends and Diana's friendly family, both its Muggle root near Aberystwyth and her brother's branch, two of whom had followed their aunt to a destiny of magic at Hogwarts, had invited him to live near or with them and he had callers and correspondents enough to prevent the remoteness of Winter Hollow from compounding his isolation. And he did not always live alone – Remus stayed on and off depending on his circumstances as he had done for most of his life and would come at a single word if he felt that he was needed. It had taken much persuasion on Rey's part to prevent his concerned son from giving up on the generous offer of Albus Dumbledore in order to stay with his grieving father following the death of Diana; in the end he had only agreed to leave for Hogwarts when his Muggleborn cousin Huw Griffith and his young wife Bronwyn had offered to move in to Winter Hollow and keep their uncle company.

That year had been amenable enough, if not an ideal arrangement. The couple were young and taken with the romance of the location, unaware that the romance could easily be eroded by simple practicalities. He could still hear the echoes of Bronwyn's scream the day she had discovered his escaped puffskein by sitting on it as she climbed into bed and see the uncertain smile on Huw's face when he discovered his auntie's husband dissecting a grindylow on the kitchen table in order to establish just what it had died of. Although he remained on excellent terms with what was now a young family, it had been an unspoken relief to all concerned when Remus had returned from his first ill-fated stint at Hogwarts and given Huw and Bronwyn a way to gracefully depart free of guilt.

In spite of a tendency inherited from his mother to tidy things that didn't really need tidying and a habit of commandeering the study, Remus had been a marked improvement as a household companion. So it had been with a tinge of sadness that Rey had greeted the arrival of a certain stray animagus whose news had once again taken his son away from Winter Hollow and back into danger.

He had not been completely abandoned – his son had written whenever he could and there had been much talk of weekend visits and Sunday lunches, although nothing outside of a short stay last Easter had yet materialised. And of course, Remus had once again made provision to insure his remaining parent was looked after – having insisted that he would never be so inhumane as to force his poor old father to suffer his own cooking, he had arranged for Mrs Evgenie Wenn, a plump, irritatingly patronising witch from a nearby village with bouncy brown-charmed curls and a smile you could swallow a frog with to drop by for a few hours every day to whip up a few meals and dust around. Neither Lupin had considered her much of a solution, but she had been the only affordable prospect for a retired Exterminator on a minimal Ministry pension and a sporadically employed werewolf otherwise occupied with helping save the world and was thus to be endured. Rey smiled tolerantly at her baby-talk remarks, apparently inspired by nothing more than a head of grey hair and a cane – _Oh Mr Lupin, are you sure you can manage those stairs all by yourself? Oh Mr Lupin, would you like me to cut that up for you? You really shouldn't strain yourself… Oh Mr Lupin, I'm sure you don't really want that awful creature in the house..._ – whilst quietly cultivating an animated dislike of the woman that manifested itself into a variety of daydreams inspired by possible means of her demise. It was a way to pass the time.

But in spite of Mrs Wenn, of lonely nights, of certain painful memories to be found on the wooded mountainside, Rey would never leave Winter Hollow as long as breath remained his body. He could not exist anywhere else. He would never be persuaded.

For Diana was here. He knew it. He could feel her like a soft embrace, a brush of air, unseen but ever present, watching over her family in death with the same warmth and protective love that had characterised her life. She was waiting in the home they made together and he could no more leave her than he could touch her.

He could endure any amount of Mrs Wenn to hold onto that feeling.

He missed Diana.

He missed Remus.

But he would never in a thousand years have been so selfish as to deny his son the chance to do the job he loved.

He was happy. And that was enough.

With a weary sigh, Rey settled himself down on the broad old sofa beside the roaring living room fire, gathering up over his knees the broad, heavily-knitted green blanket with an orange embroidered R that Remus had forwarded to him a while before from a lady that he vaguely recalled as one of Diana's former pupils; apparently, due to her knitting fetish, his son now had several very similar blankets of his own. It was gaudy and a little odd, but the warmth was valuable and Rey had grown quite fond of it. It reminded him of happier times.

But on this night such memories were doomed to falter.

For even as he reached over towards the side table in search of his book, the fireplace flared with emerald light.

A moment later Rey found himself staring at the sombre disembodied head of Albus Dumbledore.

His stomach dropped like a stone.

Oh no.

Sad blue eyes met his. The bearded jaw was tense.

"Reynard," the old headmaster said softly. "It's Remus."

In Hogsmeade, there was chaos.

Judging by the shivering clusters of bloodstained figures and groaning wounded wrapped in blankets that he saw before him as he stumbled from the green flaring fireplace, the Three Broomsticks had been pressed into service as some manner of emergency field hospital. All around harried looking figures in lime-green robes bustled frantically from patient to patient, St Mungo's healers flooed in at obvious short notice and struggling to cope – behind the bar, a dishevelled Madam Rosmerta was rushing to keep up with the demand for hot water and soothing spirits. Dark-robed Aurors lingered everywhere, bellowing orders, snapping commands and gesturing with their wands as more casualties were ushered in from the darkened, rubble-strewn street outside in order to receive treatment. A glimpse down into the open cellar door revealed the blanket-shrouded shapes of those who had come too late.

And in that moment, Reynard Lupin did not care a whit about any of them.

He couldn't focus. He couldn't think. His mind was plunging from past to present, shying frantically away from the chilling prospect of the future, tumbling through half-forgotten memories of his little boy at play in a then-cluttered room, or curled in his mother's lap as he listened to his favourite story, or leaping into his parents arms with a Hogwarts letter clasped in his hand, a little thing taken for granted by so many that had utterly transformed his son's life. He remembered four teenage boys and a frenetic, glorious broomstick-back snow ball fight over their snow-washed lawn one cold New Year's Day that had concluded with James Potter upside down in the frozen creek, Sirius Black stuck halfway up a tree and Peter Pettigrew sitting precariously on the chimney pot. In spite of the chill he had caught from his own head-on encounter with a hefty snowdrift, Remus hadn't stopped grinning for _days_ after they left…

_Remus_…

He had to get to Hogwarts.

Rey knew he could have apparated to the gates. But given the tumultuous fragility of his mental state, he would have most likely left several important limbs and a few vital organs languishing abandoned on the floor behind him. He could not afford the time it would have taken to pull himself together.

He had to get to Hogwarts. That was all that mattered.

_Remus _was all that mattered.

_Not Remus. Not now. Not like this_.

_Not both of them_.

His arrival had not gone unnoticed. Although the Healers gave him no more than a passing glance and the wounded were far too involved in their own pain to care about a new arrival, several sharp intensive stares had snapped in the older man's direction as he surged forward blindly with as much speed as his age and incapacity would allow. Looks were shared, nods were exchanged; a moment later, a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and a broad, bloody scratch across his cheek had covered the few strides necessary to step between Reynard and the door and dropped his hand with gentle firmness onto the older man's shoulder, sharply arresting his momentum.

"Excuse me sir, but you can't go out there," he said with quiet authority, his voice whilst sympathetic, allowing no quarter for argument. "I'm afraid we need you to wait inside a while until the area has been secured…"

"My son." The words slipped out almost unconscious, spun from a whirlwind of memories that concealed the prospective void that threatened to rip apart his world. "Please, I have to go to my son…"

The Auror's jaw tightened, his eyes clearly pained at the older man's obvious distress, but his grip did not relax. "I'm sorry sir, but you'll just have to wait here for news. I know a lot of people have relatives caught up in this but the situation is too uncertain to have civilians…"

"No, you don't understand," Rey had neither the time nor the inclination to allow the man to finish his words, the aching chill that crept through his chest threatening to consume him entirely. "_Hogwarts_, I have to go to Hogwarts!"

The Auror slowly shook his head. "Sir, Hogwarts is currently off-limits to all but Ministry personnel and Healing staff. I cannot allow…"

Remus needed him. His little boy was…_was_… He had to be there! He didn't have _time_ for this…

"Get out of my way."

"Sir, please…"

"Get _out _of my _way!_"

"Sir, _calm down_!"

Instinctively grasping the counter for support, his cane rose in support of his desperate urge to simply clear his path to Remus. His eyes alarmed but steely, the Auror was reaching for his wand…

"Hey! _Hey!_"

An almighty crash shattered the dangerous instant as a figure in Auror robes tumbled head over heels over a pile of medical supplies and tumbled to a standstill at the astonished combatants feet. With a muttered obscenity, the unexpected arrival dragged herself hastily upright, revealing a dark-eyed young woman with a heart-shaped face and short spiked hair in a shocking pure white hue. Steadying herself abruptly, she thrust her hands into the air between the two men in an abrupt halt to potential hostilities.

"That is enough!" she ordered with surprising authority as she turned her determined gaze upon her colleague. "Auror Danyon, don't you think there's been enough violence around here this evening?"

The older Auror's featured flickered; in spite of the fact that he was clearly the woman's senior in rank, he did not seem inclined to argue.

"All right, point taken," he conceded with a sigh as he returned his wand to its sheath. "But that doesn't change the fact that we can't have any old civilian just wandering the streets and bursting into Hogwarts…"

"Then I'll take him." The woman's voice was firm. "I'll escort him through the village and to the castle. No wandering at all."

The Auror called Danyon raised an eyebrow. "You know him?"

The woman smiled evasively. "I can vouch for him," she dodged efficiently. Her eyes filled with a sudden plea. "Dan, mate, let me deal with this one, okay? The Death Eaters have scarpered; the streets are safe if fairly beaten up. And trust me, they'll let him in at Hogwarts and it's important for him to go."

Auror Danyon was clearly a man with a lot on his plate and the removal of one troublesome morsel did not seem to hold any difficulty for him. He nodded.

"Fine, he's all yours," he relented with a dismissive wave of his hand. "But no trouble, okay?"

The young Auror flashed him a smile. "Cross my heart."

Still frowning, Danyon turned and moved away. Turning her gaze onto Rey, the young woman smiled more seriously as she took a gentle grip on the older man's upper arm and escorted him gently but hurriedly outside.

The familiar street beyond was almost unrecognisable as the cheery façade so well known to every Hogwarts student and alumni. The cobblestones were ripped up and scattered widely in the aftermath of violent explosions, craters littering the earth. Houses were charred and battered, windows smashed, signs hanging loose as dark figures darted everywhere, searching the debris, frantically calling for survivors or cautiously investigating danger. Overhead, in a crystal clear night sky, pinpricks of stars glistened like a halo surrounding the rounded gleam of the full moon.

With considerate care, the young woman guided Rey quickly, if a little clumsily through the damaged, moon-washed streets. On the rise above, Hogwarts castle squatted, a shadowy silhouette of turrets against the silver-stained night.

_Remus is there. Remus is…_

"Mr Lupin, right?"

He started sharply at the softly asked question; turning his head he realised that the young woman was smiling at him wanly from beneath her vivid snowy crown. In a sudden rush, he realised that he had no idea why this unknown Auror had helped him, or indeed how she might have come to know his name.

"Yes," he managed absently. "How did you know who I am?"

Although she met his gaze solemnly, her eyes flickered with pain. "You couldn't have been anyone else," she whispered softly. "You look like just your son, Mr Lupin."

Rey felt his heart leap into his throat. "You know Remus?" he gasped, stumbling to a halt as he grasped her robes almost frantically. "Is he…?" The words choked and faltered.

The young Auror's lip twisted, her eyes glistening with moisture as the moonlight cast her features in an unmistakable aspect of distress. "He's at Hogwarts," she simply said, though there was a tremor to her tone that Rey could very much relate to. Gently but firmly, she turned the older man around and led him back onto the road towards Hogwarts gates "Let's just get you there, okay? There are better people than me to explain."

Reynard nodded distractedly, allowing himself to be guided by her reassuring hands. It was easier than trying to think for himself.

Hogwarts loomed ahead, its gates flung aside, its lawn a chaotic scatter of figures rushing to and fro. Behind the panes of glass he recognised as the windows of Hogwarts Hospital Wing, distant light was blazing.

_Remus._

He could almost feel Diana's anxious presence hovering at his side.

He could only pray that his son had not yet joined her.

**A/N**: I hope you all had a very Merry Christmas and that you will all have a very Happy New Year! In other news, I have now completed writing this story and so have only to edit and post my way to the end at Chapter 42. Hurrah. :)

**Reviewer Responses**:

**KnightMara **– Many apologies for the Scroogie turn but I've been very busy for the last couple of days (in fact I'm busy today too but I did say I'd post…). But it's here now…:)

**Neoma **– Hurrah for July 16th! And no need to apologise! Merry Christmas. :) Oh and no, not Canada, I'm a British lass through and through. Why do you ask? :)

**Dortha **– Ummm…. -runs away- ;)

**bookworm-jill** – Thank you for not hating me.;) Ummm… how did you kill off Remus accidentally? And Christmas dinner, my sole yearly venture into cookery, went surprisingly well. But I have to do it all again in a couple of hours for Boxing Day! Eek! ;)

**The Thief Kuronue** – Thank you very much! I'm glad the fight worked well – fights aren't the easiest things to write, especially werewolf fights so I'm very pleased with it! :)

**Liv Naravul** – I didn't want Remus to suddenly become a super-werewolf either, I wanted it to be as -ahem- realistic as a werewolf fight could actually be! And I hate to be the bubble-burster but – I'm afraid Kane _isn't_ dead….;)

**S.P.E.L.L.** – Thank you very much indeed! :) I'm glad you liked the chandelier – as I said, it was one of the earliest ideas I had for this fic. :) I hope you've had a happy Christmas too! :)

**Kittylace** – If you throw the cookies, I'll try to catch them. ;) But please don't beat me too hard….

**Moony-Chan** – Sorry……;)

**a happy bibliophile** – I'm so sorry I didn't manage to answer your review to chapter 28 in the last part – I wrote my responses, posted the chapter and found your review just after! And so many questions! Well, I shall answer those that the last couple of chapters haven't answered for me. :)

The issues of how the students kept Kane away, his lack of vulnerability during transformation, Harry's actions and exactly what occurred in the Great Hall whilst Remus was absent will be addressed in detail in later chapters. The house-elves didn't come because they weren't called (Snape was the one with the authority to call them and he was a little unconscious) and hence from their safe refuge in the kitchens didn't realise what was happening. The ghosts, as mentioned, were also in the Great Hall with the children. Dumbledore didn't use the passage from the greenhouse because it came out in the woodsnear the Shrieking Shack and he felt it was too far away from the village itself, which was in imminent danger. Kane did indeed try to recruit but he was rather stuffed when the Ministry arrested his potential recruits in The Howling raid. The apparent dumbness of Kane's actions are partly due to the fact that things did not go exactly according to his original plan. The Order was rather occupied in Hogsmeade. And Snape, as the last chapter showed, was stowed out of the way of Kane's teeth. Does that help? :)

As for the description regarding Remus' awareness of Kane – check the description of Remus' feelings of ill health in the entrance hall during chapter 27 against his previous reactions to Kane's presence. That may also provide a clue as to how Kane got inside. :)

I do have 42 chapters. Apologies for evil cliffieness.

Oh right! I didn't realise Boxing Day wasn't celebrated all over. Boxing Day is the day after Christmas (26th December – ie today) so named because in the past presents were not opened on Christmas day but the day after – hence Boxing Day, the day to open boxes. :) These days of course, we open on Christmas morning but we still call the 26th Boxing Day here in Britain all the same. And in my family at least, it is a rerun of Christmas day (though alas without the presents) with the family members that couldn't make it yesterday.:)

**Howling Wolf 22** – Apologies for the meanie cliffiness. And again with the bubble bursting but Kane _isn't_ dead….

**aurelie1 **– Well, I still have Rey…. And yes, Remus would prefer death to turning feral. There are 12 more chapters yet to post. :)

**elmtree** – I liked the idea of Kane, with his obsession with the importance of strength and power, being brought down by Neville and that it being something Remus joked about that inspired it. :) Respect is fantastic because that's kind of what I was going for – not a super Remus but a human one. :) And thank you very, very much for all your lovely comments! I'm flattered! :)

**Jello** – Ummmm… -reinforces bunker and battens down the hatches- ;)

The next update will be on Wednesday like usual. Happy Holidays! :)


	31. The Fallen

**A/N**: The final cliffhanger. You've all survived very well so far... :)

_31: The Fallen._

The chaos at Hogwarts at least showed a hint of organisation.

The entrance hall was an unabashed disaster area. The focal point of much attention was the twisted, scattered wreckage of what appeared to be the remains of one of the enormous iron-bound silver chandeliers that had hung over the heads of the children of Hogwarts for generations. Several Aurors, a couple of Hogwarts professors, including the distinctively tiny figure of the long-time teacher of Charms, Filius Flitwick and a stringy, disconsolate form clutching a dusty cat that could only be the infamous Argus Filch were gathered together in thoughtful contemplation of the damage.

But Rey's attention had snapped immediately elsewhere. A cluster of determined looking figures dressed in the distinctive hunting gear of the Werewolf Capture Unit had formed a wary huddle not far from the crushing remnants of the chandelier, handling a set of sturdy chains and a vicious looking muzzle as they bent down over a bloody heap of fur…

The sharp press of the young Auror's hand against his shoulder was all that prevented a sudden surge forward. She darted in front of him, eyes wide and gaze intensive.

"That's not _Remus_," she exclaimed hurriedly. "They've taken Remus to the Hospital Wing. She glanced over her shoulder and Rey could see her jaw tightening with rage. "That's _Kane_," she said coldly.

Kane.

Reynard felt an odd numbness tinged with remote anger spread like cold fingers across the pain and anguish lodged in his chest. He stared, simply stared for a moment at the severely injured werewolf slumped unmoving on the stone floor, drinking in a form he had last seen stained in the blood of his three-year old, the motionless body of the man, the feral, the _creature_ that had so horrendously impacted upon his family and his life. He watched as the sturdy men of the WCU encased clawed paws in tangled chains, snapped the fierce muzzle firmly down over the vindictive jaws and secured the bindings around the limbs tightly to a strong pole that was hefted onto several shoulders to leave the terrible predator dangling limply as he was hoisted up and carried determinedly outside to the waiting Portkey-cage and a specialised cell at the Ministry.

He should have felt elated. Instead he felt sick.

In the silence of his mind, a sullen dark-haired little boy of his blood but not his own stared accusingly at him down the years.

The young Auror's grip on his shoulder tightened as the unconscious werewolf was hurried past by his bearers and disappeared through the vast front doors out into the moon-washed grounds and the custody of the Ministry of Magic.

"Good riddance," he heard her mutter.

A sudden realisation swamped his body like the cold of arctic ice. Of course. The moon was still up.

Kane was still a werewolf.

And so Remus was still a werewolf.

Reynard had never seen his son in his full moon form. In the early years of course, it had been far too dangerous but even after the success of the Wolfsbane, Remus had always passed his monthly purgatory in careful isolation. It was not a matter of which they had ever spoken both had instinctively known; Remus had not wanted to be seen on such nights any more than his father had wanted to fall witness. A silent pact had existed between them, an unspoken promise, that this was something that neither would ever force the other to endure. The true horror of the change would remain a mystery.

Apprehension chilled him, his fervoured rush to his son's side abruptly stilled. How could he now break such a pact? How could he bear to see him in the form he had so long hidden, in a shape he so despised?

How could he bear to see him look like _Kane_?

"Tonks!"

There was a sudden stampede of footsteps. Abruptly jerked from his grim musing, Reynard found himself face to face with young James Potter.

For an instant, Rey wondered if his distress had driven him into some kind of insanity, if his desperately recalled memories had somehow sprung to life. Were the vivid and colourful spectres of the long dead suddenly haunting Hogwarts?

Reality kicked in a moment later. He had often been told of how greatly young Harry resembled his father but seeing him in person the similarity was far more shaking than any amount of newspaper photographs. Harry Potter looked tired, battered and injured but his face was set with a cocktail of steely determination and confused distress. In his hand, he was grasping a battered old piece of parchment capped with curly green handwriting.

And the boy was not alone. A bushy haired girl with a recently healed cut on her face hurtled impatiently to a standstill beside a lanky redheaded boy and a smaller girl with hair of an equally volcanic shade. A round-faced, plump and bemused looking boy tumbled over to join them a moment later.

"Tonks, do you know what's happening?" It took a moment for Reynard to realise that this singular and rather unfeminine moniker belonged to the young Auror who was keeping him company. In all the confusion, he had not thought to ask her name.

"Nobody will tell us anything, they just keep trying to send us back to the dormitories with everyone else! They wouldn't let us go with them to find Hagrid even though we had to tell them where he was!" Harry flourished the piece of parchment indignantly for a moment before rushing on. "And now they won't even let us back in to see Professor Lupin! We did everything we could to help after that _thing _almost cut him to bits! He's _dying_ in there and all they can do is _tie him up_ and…"

"_Harry!_" The sharp exclamation from the bushy-haired girl cut the rest of the rambling tirade away into nothing. She was staring at the pale-faced Reynard with a kind of horrified recognition. A moment later the boy's emerald eyes had also fixed upon him and widened.

"Harry," The young Auror – Tonks, he supposed – was gazing between Rey and the young man with sincere sympathy. "This is Professor Lupin's _father_."

"I…" For a moment, the dark-haired adolescent seemed at a genuine loss for words. "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to be insensitive," he apologised sincerely. "I should have seen, you look just like him…"

Reynard managed a wan smile. "I imagine you and your father have been similarly compared," he observed, maintaining a level tone with difficulty. "You gave me quite a start when you first came over." His voice faltered slightly. "I thought I was seeing ghosts."

Harry said nothing. He simply bit his lip.

"Reynard!" The hail caught his attention sharply. Striding towards the small cluster of figures, hat bent and charred, robes dishevelled and hair leaking free of its restraining pins, Minerva McGonagall certainly looked as though she'd been in a fight. Rey had known Minerva for most of his life; a contemporary from he and his wife's school days, albeit in a different House, she and Diana had become good friends during the years they had shared as colleagues on the Hogwarts faculty. Although they had rarely seen each other in the long years that followed, both he and Diana had continued to count Minerva as a trusted friend.

She was regarding him now with a combination of apprehension and sorrow that was deeply alarming.

"Reynard," she greeted again more solemnly. "Albus is meeting with representatives from the Ministry or he'd be here to see you himself. I'll take you to Remus."

An abrupt gesture forestalled the pursuing motions of the teenagers as she regarded them with aggravated sternness. "I'm not going to tell you five again," she declared firmly. "I want you upstairs in the Gryffindor dormitory to be checked out by the Healers we've sent to…"

"But we've seen Healers!" The smaller redheaded girl gestured in the direction of her bushy-haired companion's closed cut. "We just want to _know_…"

"_Miss Weasley!_" At this tone, the silence was instant. "You'll be told _what_ you need to know _when_ you need to know it! For the last time, _upstairs_!" Taking a deep, infuriated breath as the indignant teenagers reluctantly shuffled away, Minerva turned and nodded more graciously in the direction of the spiky haired young Auror. "Thank you, Miss Tonks," she added politely. "Reynard?"

Also nodding his gratitude to his escort, Reynard turned and followed swiftly in pursuit of the Deputy Headmistress.

The Hospital Wing was alive with activity. Lime-robed Healers that could be spared from the village had been drafted in to tend the most battered of the children as they crouched dazed but obedient on the rows of beds – in another bed, partly curtained off Rey caught a glimpse of a dark-robed, black-haired figure lying unconscious that could only be the infamous Professor Severus Snape. Near the door, two beds had been pushed hurriedly together but his makeshift arrangement had still failed to contain the enormous, bearded figure that lay sprawled across them, his face showing signs of a severe battering, his eyes closed and his breathing ragged and slow. Two Healers were straining together in order to roll his vast form sideways so as to better examine his injuries. Strangely, there was no sign of Poppy Pomfrey.

Minerva was examining the scratched children with an expression that mingled seriousness with relief. "We were very lucky," she said softly. "Several of the students acted very promptly when Kane first transformed and their actions meant that by some miracle, no children were bitten or killed. All the injuries are minor." She laid one hand gently against Rey's wrist as he rested a moment against his cane.

"They remembered things that _your son_ taught them," she added, with a note of pride whispering against the sorrow in her tone. "He saved their lives tonight in more ways than one."

Rey did not trust himself to speak. He simply nodded.

Minerva's features braced as she released his hand with a final, reassuring squeeze.

"He's in Poppy's office," she told him quietly. "We thought it best not to have him out on the ward for now."

_Of course. It wouldn't do to scare the children_.

The unworthy thought slipped through Rey's mind before he could prevent its passage. Biting down on his lip, he moved to follow Minerva as she led him gently between the rows of beds in the direction the entrance of Poppy Pomfrey's inner chamber, his mind tumbling again at the prospect of what he might find.

Remus the werewolf. Fear and apprehension stabbed against the cold emptiness inside his chest. Would there be anything of his son there that he would recognise? Would there linger any hint of the child he so loved? Or would he be forced to sit and watch the slow demise of an unfamiliar monster without ever again truly seeing the last person in the world that he had left?

Would he ever see the face of son he knew and loved so much again? Or just watch a werewolf die?

_Please,_ he pleaded silently to whatever deity or spirit might care to be listening. _Please, if you must take him from me, wait until he's human. Don't leave him in a shape he despised for an eternity. Give him the dignity of leaving this world as himself_…

The door to Poppy's office was slightly ajar. The sounds of thrashing limbs, of wolfish whimpering drifted from within.

With a final, concerned glance at her companion, Minerva pushed open the door.

And Reynard's world shifted.

A lean werewolf lay writhing on a battered, bloodstained mattress in the corner of the room, twitching and jerking uncontrollably as he unconsciously strained against the padded ropes that bound him down and held him firm. His thick grey fur and the rough bandages that loosely covered what Rey assumed to be the worst of his injuries were soaked in alarming quantities of blood. In spite of the frantic motion, his eyes remained firmly closed.

Rey was thankful of that. He had no wish to see that eerie golden stare again.

Poppy Pomfrey was kneeling awkwardly beside this most unusual patient, her hands and protective apron stained scarlet as she sorted through fresh bandaging from a wooden box by her side. Both her wand and a collection of potion bottles sat untouched and useless on her nearby desk. As her gaze lifted to greet the new arrivals, her eyes fluently expressed both her anxiety and her resignation.

"He's still deeply unconscious, though you wouldn't know it," she stated without preamble. "And since all I have to work with are bandages, I'm having real trouble stopping the bleeding. Healing spells bounce off him just like any other magic at full moon and I've no idea how any of my potions will react with this physiology. I even thought about trying those Muggle stitches but I can't keep him still enough; I had enough trouble getting the bandages on." She sighed, her features rich with regret and frustration. "I'm doing everything I can, but I'm completely at a loss. There hasn't been much written about trying to heal a transformed werewolf."

Minerva had gone pale. "What are his chances?" she asked with difficulty.

Poppy hardened her jaw. "Hard to say," she confessed, unable to conceal the note of distress in her tone. "In his weakened condition, the transformation back will be the test. If he can survive that… well, I can't say he'll be out of the woods but I'll at least be able to start treating him and make a better assessment of his wounds." She swallowed hard. "If he's alive come the morning, we'll speak again."

Reynard barely heard them. He was transfixed by the thrashing wolf that twisted and writhed before him, swathed in grey fur and bloody bandages, a creature so unlike the son that had brought so much joy into his life as to be incomprehensible. Could this really be Remus? Could this wolfish form truly enclose the quiet dignity and gentle humour of his only child? And why, even in the sleep of injury, could he not be allowed to rest?

"Why is he writhing like that?" Rey barely recognised the sound of his own voice. "I thought he'd be still."

Minerva's hand closed soothingly upon his shoulder as Poppy sighed. "He's been like this since before I arrived," she admitted wearily, her eyes examining the tortured werewolf with sorrowful fear. "I had to tie him down to stop him exacerbating his wounds. I don't know what's going on in there, but I don't think I like it."

A memory flashed like vivid lightning across Rey's mind. Another hospital room almost a lifetime ago now it seemed, and a little boy with gold stained eyes fighting a desperate fight…

Icy dread mingled with burning fear at the sudden realisation.

The _wolf_.

_It's there. And he's fighting it_.

_Remus_.

Doubts, confusion, all were pushed instantly aside. Whatever form he was forced to wear, whatever shape he was contorted into, this was and would always be his _son_.

Pulling gently free of Minerva's grasp, Rey made his way awkwardly over to Poppy's side. Ignoring her quizzical look, the older man grasped his cane in one hand and took a firm grip on the edge of the desk with the other. And then, with an agonised grimace, he lowered painfully himself to the ground.

Both Minerva and Poppy leapt instantly to his aid, but Rey shook them off impatiently as he managed to settle himself uncomfortably in a sprawling sit with his cane propped up against a nearby chair. Ignoring Poppy's critical stare as she dropped back to her knees at his side, he stared down at alien body to which his son was bound. Then awkwardly, tentatively, he extended one hand towards the frantic head and gently raked his fingers through the bloody fur.

"Reynard…" Poppy's voice cracked slightly as watched him repeat the soothing stroke in spite of the werewolf's struggles.

"You said we'll know in the morning." Rey's voice was no more than a whisper.

Poppy nodded. "That's right."

Rey's eyes never left his transformed child, his hand not once ceasing in its gentle motion. "Then I'll wait here."

Minerva was biting her lip as she stared down at the father's slow comfort of his agonised son. "I have to go," she said awkwardly. "Poppy, if anything…happens…"

"I'll send word," the Matron assured her at once. With a final nod, Minerva turned and hurried from the room.

Rey did not hear her leave. He did not see the sorrowful stare of Poppy Pomfrey. He knew of nothing but his son.

"It's all right, Remus," he murmured softly. "Whatever happens, you won't be alone."

He could almost feel Diana by his side. He could almost sense her as she mirrored his comforting stroke.

And now they could only wait and see what the morning's light would bring.

**Reviewer Responses**:

**KnightMara **– I did warn you that there would be a run of cliffhangers. But this is the last. You'll know Remus' fate by the next chapter. :)

**aurelie1** – He's not dead at the moment. But he's not exactly in happy bunny land either. There are a lot of details to explain and a lot of explanations to come. ;) Kane isn't dead because he's annoyingly tough. ;) He is, however, finally, in custody. I agree, poor Rey…:( I didn't know that about New Year in France and Greece. It's always interesting to see the different traditions. :)

**RC Dreamer of Hope** – You're right, he is still alive. Just tenuously…;) There are 42 chapters overall, eleven left now. :) I'm pleased to hear about your inspiration! :)

**The Thief Kuronue** – Glad you like the suspense, if like is the right word! :)

**bookworm-jill **– Not a Lupin killer yet. Unless Diana Lupin counts. :( Thank you! :)

**Moony-Chan** - -offer hanky- ;)

**Liv Naravul** – Well originally, this chapter and the last were one chapter but it just got too long. Sorry! I hope you have a lovely holiday and thank you in advance for all the pre-praise. I shall apply it as appropriate! :)

**a happy bibliophile** – Sorry… As I think I've said, I was never one for cliffhangers before this fic but for some reason I've got the hang of them…;) I'm sorry, I really don't want to post it all at once, I have to double check it all yet. I hope I only distract you as much as you want to be distracted from your work…;) Kane's entrance… well spotted…;) And no, no ghosts… :)

**TwizzlerChick106** – I'm glad you're enjoying it! :) Answers in regards to Hogsmeade and Kane will be addressed in future chapters. :)

**Hiss** – Judging by your review, I suspect this chapter may have pleased you…;)

**jb** – I was rather pleased with that line. :) Glad you like it! :)

The next part will be posted on New Year's Day. And it won't have a cliffhanger, I promise! :)


	32. The Lull of Moonset

**A/N**: Happy New Year to all! :)

_32: The Lull of Moonset_

Darkness.

Images rushed and buffeted his mind, hands grasping at him, distant voices, flashes of his father shaking, his mother sobbing, Moody's fury, Dumbledore's disappointment, Kane the feral, Kane the wolf, children's voices, children's screams, both others and his own that tore at his instincts and his soul, golden eyes, the feel of teeth in his side, claws in his neck, the agony of combat and the creeping, repulsive compelling scent of his own blood spreading across the floor, splattering over the walls of the Shrieking Shack as he tore at own limbs and body in furious desperation, consumed by bloodlust and frustration. Images of dark forest, of crooked houses and a towering castle beneath a bright full moon, of a stag, a rat, a dog, a dark cellar with a high window and distant, anxious voices, of the desire to hunt, to kill, a long dark tunnel and upright shadows staring in horror, the scent of prey, the smell of fear and finally the chance to taste the blood he had yearned for but been denied all his life…

It would be fulfilment.

_No._

He did not want to fight. But he could not let it win.

He was _human_. He would _die _human.

The clawing of the wolf intensified, that dreadful, too familiar chill across his mind. It sensed his weakness and surged.

_No!_ _Leave me alone!_

He fought to remember everything, anything that was not wolf, the memories that made him Remus. His mother's kind face and her gentle arms as she lifted him from the blood-soaked stone and carried him to his room, his father's reassuring smile in the doorway, the laughter and joy of his friends, untarnished by war or age or circumstance, his friends in the Order, the surge of pleasure and pride and satisfaction that came with teaching his classes and seeing the students joy to learn, the laughter of the kids in the wake of Kane's downfall. Kane had fallen. Kane was on the verge of defeat. To give him such a victory now would be unbearable.

The wolf snarled.

And then there was pain. Pain that pierced him, tore at him, that penetrated even the depths of the darkness into which he had fallen, a pain that he was sure would finally spell the end of his long battle through life. If he could just hold the wolf off a moment longer…

And then suddenly, astonishing, everything changed. The chill slipped back, fading, the sense of the wolf retreating with a parting growl as it curled itself back in its secluded corner of his mind and left him alone with his pain.

The fight was over. He had won.

The darkness swirled then, wrapping around him with a numbing relief that stole away the agonies. Gently, it began to pull him downwards.

And he didn't care. Remus Lupin was at rest.

A moment later there was nothing but the black.

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Lightness.

Feeling.

Sound.

The blackness was retreating. Light burned at his eyelids.

A slow creep of sensation whispered its way along limbs he had thought left behind forever. A moment later, it prodded awake the pain.

A lot of pain.

Every joint ached. Every nerve tingled. Every bone throbbed. His stomach burned in streaks of fire. Heavy, oppressive, almost violent tiredness clung like a weighty shroud around both body and mind.

He groaned. It seemed appropriate under the circumstances.

Voices. Yes, there were definitely voices, two voices, two familiar voices but right at that moment his brain wanted nothing more than to settle down in a gooey heap and never be disturbed again; hence, it did not respond well to a prod for information. Identities eluded him.

He could not wake. For all he wanted to, the strength and coherence he needed was absent. The weight upon his mind pressed him downwards, yearning once more for the dark.

Hands. A hand, course and callused, had wrapped around his own, squeezing with gentle reassurance; a second hand, different, smoother, smaller, caught his chin in a soft grasp. Something glassy was pressed against his lips, followed by the trickle of cold liquid that slid into his mouth to be instinctively swallowed, a potion of some kind that tasted vaguely of melon sorbet. A shiver seemed to pass through his body but not a sense of cold; instead, the feeling was oddly warm and comforting, as the heaviness in his mind, the detachment, seemed to ease into a soft, downy drowsiness that enfolded him like warm blankets and lowered him back towards sleep. This time, as he slipped gently back into the darkness, he knew he would return.

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The hand. It still held his.

Drifting absently in peaceful slumber, Remus slowly became aware of the gentle grasp of fingers tracing absent little circles on the palm of his hand, of the slow stroke of a thumb against the knuckles, little movements that slowly but surely lifted him back into the conscious world and roused him from his torpor. The imposing weight of disorientating, pall like darkness against his mind had dissipated into nothing more than a nagging tiredness and heavy limbs, the pain reduced to a dull roar, although the skin of his stomach still felt vaguely as though it had lost a round of combat with a cheese grater. His thigh was also alarmingly tender and little trickles of pain slithered down his right side. His bruises, he suspected, were pretty universal.

Still. All things considered, it could have been a great deal worse...

Realisation struck with the force of a feral werewolf. He was _alive._

And he was _sane_. Or as sane as he ever got.

Questions he'd never thought he'd get to ask suddenly became real again. What had happened to Kane, the students, the village? And what had happened to _him?_

He'd wanted to die. He'd let himself. He'd thought he had no choice.

_Why hadn't he?_

The wolf had been winning. Death had seemed the only escape. But the wolf had retreated.

_Why? And what if it comes back?_

Why wasn't he feral? Why wasn't he _dead_?

"I'm not dead." The words escaped his throat in a whisper almost unconsciously, echoing into the silence of the room beyond. The hand stilled, tightening sharply.

And then, a familiar voice tangled with emotions cut into his retrospection and dragged him finally awake.

"Not through lack of _trying,_ apparently."

Remus blinked as light invaded his eyes. Recognition flooded through his tired but clearing mind as he sought to focus his uncertain vision on the silver haired blur that hovered by his bed.

"Dad," he murmured drowsily, but his voice rich with anxiety. His rush of questions swirled in his head, battling with his own sense of exhaustion as he fought to rid himself of the last remnants of the dragging drowsiness that had earlier seemed so all consuming in order to ask what he so desperately needed to know. Whilst his father could not help with the latter, he could at least answer the former.

"Kane, the children, Hogsmeade," he managed to mumble. "What's _happened_?"

"Hogsmeade was attacked by Death Eaters but Dumbledore drove them away." There was an odd frosty quality to his father's voice as Remus struggled to solidify his image. "There were a few fatalities; two Aurors were lost in the fight and several of the villagers but others can tell you better than I about that. The children are all fine by some miracle, no more than scratches on them. And Abraham Kane is alive but in custody."

Remus managed to regain control of his rebellious sight, finally cutting through the remains of the weary fuzz as he focussed awkwardly on his father at last. Their eyes met and held.

Remus felt an ominous surge in his chest. He knew that look.

"Dad?" he ventured cautiously, forcing himself to concentrate as he slurred the words. "Are you all right?"

Reynard Lupin regarded his son for a moment, silhouetted against a swath of Hospital Wing curtain, his tight expression conveying far more clearly than any words just how difficult he was finding it to reconcile his relieved desire to embrace the battered form of his only child and his fervent urge to give him the scolding of his life. When he spoke again, his voice remained stiff and cold, but with an undeniable hint of a tremble.

"You know," he said softly. "Once in a while, I would like to see my only son for reasons that don't involve his having spilled his lifeblood across a wide area of floor. I've spent too many years sitting at your bedside already, thank you."

Guilt welled up in Remus' chest. He could see now the tension that racked his father's body, the tightness of his jaw, the turmoil of emotions in his brown eyes. He could read the fear of loss on his features, mingling with the release of its thwarting. He could feel the sudden, anxious press of his fingers against his son's palm.

His father had been terrified.

Gently, he squeezed the hand back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered softly, shifting his position with heavy awkwardness in order to better face his father. "I'm so sorry. The last thing I wanted to do was upset you."

Reynard clenched his teeth. "Perhaps you could have thought of that before you decided to have a full moon scrap with a feral werewolf? With _Abraham bloody Kane?_"

The urge to scold definitely appeared to be winning and Remus really wasn't sure he had the energy to take it. "Dad…"

His plea was cut off sharply. "Do you know what day it is today? _Do you?_"

Shocked and a little intimidated, Remus mutely shook his head.

"_Tuesday_." Reynard glared emphatically but his hand was noticeably shaking. "Tuesday afternoon, to be exact. Do you happen to remember what day it was when you last paid a visit to the land of the living?"

_Oh dear gods. No wonder he's so stressed_. "Friday."

"_Friday_," Reynard repeated sharply. "That would make it almost four days you've been unconscious. Four days I've been sat by your bedside, waiting for some sign that you haven't buggered off to the Great Beyond. Four days of fielding polite phrased sympathies and anxious questions, four days of wide-eyed children tugging at my sleeve and asking after their favourite teacher, four days of being patted on the shoulder by nice people who really did have _no bloody idea_ what I was going through. The Aurors are lurking around like pallbearers at a funeral; the only reason that officious bastard Dawlish doesn't want you dead is so he can accuse you of something, though I'm not sure Saving Lives With Intent is quite what he had in mind! And do you know there's press out there? They came to cover that attack in Hogsmeade but they soon sniffed out about Kane's capture as well. If that bloody Skeeter woman comes near me one more time, I'll jam my cane up her nose and wiggle until her glasses fall off!"

Remus couldn't help himself. He snorted a chuckle.

Reynard caught him with a glare, but a hint of the fervour seemed to melt out of his tirade at his son's suppressed smile. When he spoke again, his tone had softened slightly. "Remus, you promised me you weren't going to do this anymore. You said you'd be _careful_."

Remus sighed as he tightened his grip on his uptight father's hand, trying not to resent being told off for doing what he thought was best; it was obvious that Reynard desperately needed to vent four days of bottled up emotions whether his son had the energy or not. He told himself determinedly that his father had every right to be bloody unreasonable. He was not going to snap at him for it.

"Circumstances rather got away from me," he said wearily, although despite his best efforts, there was an unmistakable edge to his tone. "I had a choice between a full moon scrap with a feral werewolf or sitting back on my haunches and leaving him to _eat the children_. I did what I thought was the right thing and I'm sorry if you don't agree but I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I hadn't tried my best."

Reynard huffed, but not very sincerely. "So he gets to eat my child instead?"

"Dad!" Remus thumped his head back against his pillow as frustration suddenly bubbled over his respect for his father's distress. "Please, for goodness sake, _stop_ this! I am _not eaten_! No part of me is digesting! Would you _please _either try and be reasonable or tell me what else I could have _done_!"

There was a long silence. Reynard stared down at his tired and suddenly irritable son who lay with his head half-buried in his pillow as he matched his father glare for glare. The anger drained slowly from his features, to escape in the form of a sigh.

"I'm sorry," he said finally. "I know you're right. You saved a lot of lives last weekend and you brought your mother's killer to face justice. But you also scared me near enough to death for the second time in a _fortnight._ And when your only child, your only real family, the only person left in this world that you really, truly love is lying unconscious and practically dead, the fear rather overcomes the pride."

Remus sighed too. "I understand." He fought with himself for a moment. "I did think about you," he confessed. "When I thought I was…" A squeeze of the hand conveyed a world of understanding. "And I even apologised to you, though I don't think you heard."

Rey chuckled softly, breaking a smile for the first time since his son had woken. "Afraid not," he said with deliberate casualness. "Obviously you weren't projecting very well."

A flood of unpleasant memories swam through Remus' mind, his fight with Kane, his fight within himself and that single, desperate moment when he had been willing to step into nothingness just for some kind of peace. The wolf had been winning.

"I had a little interference," he muttered shakily.

Reynard picked up instantly on his son's distress, leaning forward as he rested his cane against the bedside table on order to grasp Remus' arm with his free hand. Concerned eyes met fearful eyes and sought to reassure.

"What's wrong?" Every trace of anger and irritation had vanished from Reynard's tone in light of his son's obvious discomfort – only sympathy and concern and an odd kind of understanding remained. "What happened?"

Remus took a deep breath. How could he tell his father that his worst nightmares might be coming true? How could he tell him that he had broken his trust in going after Kane, that he had allowed the wolf to enter his thoughts and control his actions not once but _twice_? How could he tell him that his only son was terrified of turning feral?

Because he could tell no one else. And his father deserved to know.

And so he told him.

Told him of his first encounter with Kane in The Howling, of the exact words the feral had hurled at him in the Hogsmeade alley. He told of his fury at his father's admission regarding Diana Lupin's fate, of his foolhardy trip back to the werewolf haven and the confrontation and loss of control that had resulted. And he told most of all of the dreadful moment when the thoughts and desires of the wolf had crept into his mind in the entrance hall of Hogwarts and almost stole his sanity.

He told of his terror that his loss to the wolf was only a matter of time.

The silence that followed the end of his confession was vast and lengthy.

Remus stared at the ceiling, carefully avoiding his father's gaze but acutely aware of it as he struggled to compose himself after his sudden outpouring. The grip on his hand felt like a lifeline. He had to hold onto this, family, human feeling, if was going to keep himself from…

"I don't think it's as bad as you think." Reynard's voice interrupted his thoughts. It was soft, and surprisingly calm – Remus, who had been expected another outburst, glanced over at his father to find solemn eyes and composed features.

Didn't he understand what I said? 

"Dad, I almost turned feral. _Twice_. In _one week_. I don't see how that can be misinterpreted."

"You had extreme provocation." Rey bit his lip sharply. "If I had heard Abraham Kane describing how he killed you mother like that, I think _I _would have turned feral and I'm not even a _werewolf._ And you stopped it. You realised what was happening and you forced it away. When it came to the crunch, _you_ were the one in control."

Remus tried to sit upright and immediately regretted it – the spasm of sharp pain across his stomach and the dizzy surge through his skull drove him back down to his pillow with a gasp. Wincing, he waved away his father's concerned reach for his shoulder and fought to catch his breath.

"But the entrance hall," he managed. "I was on Wolfsbane, dear gods, I was druggedup to the_ eyeballs_ with the stuff, and it still broke through! How could that happen if I hadn't made it strong, given it a chance to get in? How could it…"

"Remus." Reynard's interruption was sharp. "Calm down. If I overheard something correctly, I don't think that was your fault either. Wait here a moment."

Rising awkwardly, the older Lupin reluctantly released his son's hand, grasped his cane and limped stiffly through the gap in the curtains. For the first time Remus realised that he could hear voices beyond the confines of his shrouded bed.

And then there was a sudden familiar rush of staccato footsteps and an abrupt explosion of words.

"…should have fetched me immediately! I was just in my office! Honestly, unconscious for four days, he's bound to need checking over, it was only paperwork for goodness sake! Didn't like to interrupt, good grief, like father, like son, you're as bad as each other! What a pair of…"

The curtains burst aside as the tight-lipped form of Poppy Pomfrey strode imperiously over the bedside brandishing a potion bottle and a steely expression. Her gaze softened slightly as Remus risked the little half-smile that had always proved so effective at calming his mother. His father, limping awkwardly back into the curtained off area, gave him a look that spoke volumes about exactly who was and wasn't being fooled.

Poppy numbered amongst the former. Settling gently on the edge of her patient's bed, she smiled warmly back.

"Remus dear, how are you feeling?"

"A bit achy," Remus admitted in what was a gross understatement. "My stomach's sore."

"I wonder why," Reynard drawled dryly.

Poppy shot the older man a sharp look. Looking thoroughly unrepentant, Reynard settled himself back into his chair and tossed his son a wink.

"Let me take a look," Bustling to her feet, the Matron carefully drew back the covers as Remus obediently lifted his pyjama top to allow her to make an examination. "It's no wonder you're a little tender; you had a nasty infection in these wounds by the time I got a proper look at you. I was down in the village of course, helping the wounded after that awful attack when young Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley came stumbling out of Honeydukes of all places babbling about an attack in the school. Of course the Aurors and St Mungo's Healers had things well in hand by then so we rushed back as quickly as we could, but well; the damage had been done. The children did their best for you of course, carrying you and Professor Snape to the Hospital Wing and trying to clean the wounds, but it was well beyond anything they had learned."

Remus winced as the Matron's finger prodded gently at the longest and deepest of the scratches; Poppy gave an apologetic nod before launching back into her chatter. "You were writhing all over the place when I arrived, and in a right sorry state. I'll admit – I was at a bit of a loss at first. I've never had to treat you _before _you'd changed back before and the anatomy of a transformed werewolf isn't something I ever thought I'd need to know, not to mention that your other form is rather inconveniently immune to any kind of healing magic." She smiled. "It was a bit of a relief when you turned back again and I could treat you, even if you did go alarmingly quiet."

Pain. Pain and the retreat of the wolf. Remus absently rolled over to allow Poppy to examine the scratches down his side, lost for a moment in the recollection of the last moments of his unconscious battle. That was it. That was why the wolf had retreated so suddenly; the pain had been his transformation back. The full moon had passed and so had the time of the wolf.

And he had been able to hold out. Perhaps his dad was right. Perhaps he was not so vulnerable after all…

"You were completely unconscious until this morning." Poppy was oblivious to her patient's distraction, her garrulous turn apparently an expression of relief. "You stirred a little, first thing, but you clearly weren't ready to be awake so I gave you some Sleeping Potion, a healing draft and a little something to help clear your head for when you were ready to rejoin us." She smiled. "It's nice to see you so alert at last! I was worried that the aconite in your system might slow your healing a great deal more than it has, even with the smaller doses…"

"Poppy." Reynard leapt headlong into the rambling sentence, shooting a quick meaningful glance at his surprised son. "I've been meaning to ask about that actually. When you were treating Professor Snape a few days ago, I thought I heard the two of you say something about having reduced the potency of the potion you gave Remus?"

Remus stared at the Matron, who flushed slightly and gave an awkward half-smile in the face of his stunned and slightly accusatory glare.

"That is true," she admitted softly, addressing herself to the younger Lupin. "After that collapse of yours on Wednesday, I left you asleep in the Hospital Wing and went straight down to the dungeons to have a word with Professor Snape. Don't you look at me like that, Remus Lupin!" The scolding was abrupt and quieted his half-started protest. "You know what a state you were in. Your body was still weak after your last injury and you weren't handling the effects of the tight dosages as well as I'd hoped. I was so afraid that if I didn't do something about it, I'd be the one who found you dead come moonset!" She took a calming breath. "I was lucky to catch him – he was off to some meeting with a potions colleague I think. But he told me that it could be done – we calculated almost to the droplet how much would be needed to ensure you stayed in control. We were a little concerned, I'll admit, at how close it might be but Professor Snape assured me that as long as you weren't around too many people after you'd transformed, you would be able to use your own strength of will to make the Wolfsbane stick. And since you saved the children rather than eating them, it doesn't seem to have had any ill effects on your change in the long run."

Remus stared. "It was weaker?" he managed.

"A little, yes." Poppy gently pulled the sheets back into place and patted the coverlet reassuringly. "But it was for your own good, really. And all's well that ends well. No leaving that bed now – you're on strict bed rest. I'll get you a draft for the pain."

And then with a final, encouraging smile, the Matron turned and strode through the gap in the curtains.

Remus was stunned. Could it have been that simple? Was it the weaker Wolfsbane that had allowed the wolf its moment in his mind? The full moon was after all its time. _He_ had been the invader.

And Snape had _known._ No wonder he had been so insistent that Remus should not leave Hogwarts on the night of the Hogsmeade raid, a potentially wild werewolf loose in a bloodstained battleground. And he had been so wary of Remus, almost unusually so when they had spoken in the Great Hall – he had known there was a chance that the presence of so many people would aggravate his colleague's rather less subdued than usual wolf…

A touch against his wrist made him start – Rey smiled at his son. "Feel better now?" he asked softly.

Remus gave smile in return. "What, because I'm not turning into a raging feral but merely on weaker medicine?" He laughed softly. "Much."

"Good. I told you it wasn't as bad as you thought." Reynard leaned back in his chair with a sigh of relief. "You know you probably ought to brace yourself," he said cheerfully. "Poppy's been keeping them out up until now, but there are a large number of people who will want to visit you now you're conscious. There's practically a waiting list. Tomorrow will be a busy morning, I suspect."

"Wonderful." Stretching, Remus adjusted himself more comfortably against his pillow and closed his eyes. His burst of alertness had finally caught up with him; he was suddenly ridiculously tired. "Those with chocolate receive priority."

He heard Reynard chuckle. "Ah, Diana's little boy indeed. But will you still have room for your old dad?"

Remus raised a lazy eyelid. "Do you have chocolate?"

"I can get it."

"Then I can probably squeeze you in."

"I'm so grateful." Reynard tapped his cane absently against the foot of his chair. "I see now where I've been going wrong all these years. Perhaps if I ply you with chocolate, the next time I see you won't be because you're seriously injured and in hospital."

Remus sighed, fighting an abrupt yawn. "I know, I know. I'm sorry." He smiled suddenly. "Look we talked about a Sunday dinner a while ago. How about I come home for a weekend visit sometime soon?"

Reynard grinned brightly "That's a good idea. I can do a roast."

There was a lengthy pause. Remus stared at his father. "You're going to cook?" he ventured incredulously.

Reynard raised an eyebrow in vague offence. "You have a problem with my cooking?"

"No, no." Remus closed his eyes once more, settling back with a dozy but nonetheless cheeky half-smile. "I just thought we ought to alert the emergency services. It's only polite to give then time to stock up on stomach potions and practice their dousing spells."

A second silence followed sharply on the heels of the first. When Reynard finally spoke, his voice was a mixture of fondness and downright irritation. "Of all the traits you could of inherited from your mother," he drawled wearily, "You had to get her sense of humour, didn't you?"

"Keeps you on your toes." Sleep was definitely looming. Quite why he was so tired when he had undeniably done very little for the last few days, Remus could not say. But he had learned long ago that there was no arguing with his body.

Reynard too could see which way the wind was blowing; Remus heard the familiar creak and groan as his father came to his feet and felt a gentle pat against his arm.

"I'm going to get something to eat," his father said softly. "I'll tell Poppy and your hoard of fans to come back later. Sleep well, son."

"Thanks dad." The reply was barely a whisper.

He heard the gentle swish of parting curtains and the uneven footsteps of his father as he retreated in search of food. A moment later, Remus had drifted once more into the restful peace of sleep.

**A/N:** See, he's fine! There was nothing to worry about… - flees the wrath of cliffhanger tormented, infuriated readers - ;)

**Reviewer Responses**:

**Cestari** – Apologies for missing you last time! I think you must have posted your review just as I was posting the next chapter! And no, as you can see – he isn't dead. :)

**a happy bibliophile** – See, no cliffhanger. :)

**Framling** – Thank you very much! Welcome out of lurkdom. :) Worship? –preens slightly and stocks up her temple - ;) I'm glad you like it and that my characterisation seems good – I try very hard to get the characters as right as I can and to make my OCs as realistic as I can. And recommendations! Thank you again! :)

**Neoma **– Nope, we have Boxing Day here in Britain too. :) And see, it's not so bad now. :)

**TwizzlerChick106 **– See, not dead at all. Not fine yet but definitely not dead. And yes, lots and lots of explaining will be coming soon. :)

**bookworm-jill** – There, see, he's fine. He doesn't hate me, just resents me rather…;)

**The Thief Kuronue** – He lives. There, you see? Nothing to worry about…;)

**RC Dreamer of Hope** – He's fine. And another inspiration! Excellent…:)

**Cath** – Thank you very much indeed! :) Good stories – oh goodness, ummm… Well check my profile for starters and have a look at the stories I've listed under Favourite Stories and Favourite Authors – they wouldn't be there if I didn't think they were good. :) I'd also recommend pretty much anything by an author called After the Rain/Lady deMimsy – I don't think she posts here though, so you may have to try a site called FictionAlley for that. Also I'd recommend an author called Fernwithy, especially her story "Shifts" – she does post here, but not that particular story. You'd have to find her profile (she's one of my Favourite Authors) and follow the link to her home page. It's posted there. I hope that helps! :)

**Lady Readalot** – Thank you very much indeed! Nope, Remus isn't dead. But alas, Kane isn't either…;) I tend to update twice weekly, Wednesdays and Saturdays, baring accidents. The story is now complete on paper and just needs tuning before I post. :)

**CurlsofSerenity **– Thank you very much! And here is an update. :)


	33. A Fine Mess

**A/N**: Many thanks must go to my beta Chriss Corkscrew who, on hearing my plaintive cries from the bottom of the whopping great plothole I had somehow managed to miss and promptly tumbled into, cheerfully grabbed a shovel and a fold up ladder and leapt in to haul me out. And a hell of a rescue it was too. I really wish I'd thought of that...:)

_33: A Fine Mess_

CRASH! 

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"_Honestly_, Miss Tonks!"

Remus jerked sharply awake at the sudden burst of noise that invaded the drifting, peaceful world of dreams and pulled him abruptly back into a darkened Hospital Wing bed and a fair amount of pain. Metal pans rotated against the stone floor, vials smashed and clanked glassily against one another and potions sloshed. A torrent of swearwords cut a path across the air.

"_Language!_" The shocked exclamation was unmistakably Poppy's. "Nymphadora, this is a _school!_"

Remus fought back a grin. There was no mistaking what had happened, though it would be interesting to know how Tonks had managed to collide with the vast supply cabinet by the entrance to Poppy's office. A piece of furniture that size really was quite difficult to not to spot.

There was an awkward scrabbling noise, a squeak and a thump. And then, inevitably more swearwords.

"Oh for _goodness sake_." The tone of resigned exasperation in Poppy's voice made it very plain that this was not her first experience with Tonks and a large cabinet full of delicate items. "Just stand back and let me clean it up. And keep your voice down. You'll wake Remus."

"Too late." Remus volunteered wearily from behind the safety of his curl of curtains. "Though I must say the quality of in-house entertainment around here has improved since my day."

There was an abashed silence. A moment later, soft, awkward footsteps padded across the stone floor; a hand appeared and gently drew back the white curtain to reveal an extremely messy Hospital Wing and an equally messy and distinctly embarrassed Nymphadora Tonks. She smiled wanly.

"Wotcher Remus," she ventured. "Sorry I woke you." She proffered a battered box that was wriggling alarmingly, its contents apparently spooked by the fall. "I come bearing chocolate frogs, if that helps. Your dad said those with chocolate got priority."

It took a moment for Remus' brain to acknowledge that the swirling rainbow-strewn figure before him was not a result of faulty vision. Splattered was probably the kindest description for the state of the young Auror after her collision with the cabinet and its contents; for once her short bright purple hair was not the most interesting colour she was sporting. Her robes, her skin, even her hair were drenched and dripping with an astonishing maelstrom of potion hues; bright, eye-aching pink, golden yellow, electric blue, emerald green, painful violet, vivid red and sparkling silver made for a look that no one could have created on purpose. She looked like a rainbow that had eaten the wrong type of mushrooms.

Remus grinned. It just had to be done.

"You know, I really love that outfit," he said with deliberate dryness. "And the dyed hair looks great."

The wrinkle of Tonks' nose made it very plain his payback had not gone unnoticed. "Git," she said with feeling, although a smile curled unmistakably across the corner of her mouth. With exaggerated force, she slapped her fingers against his shoulder, leaving a sticky emerald stain. "You are a sick and deranged man."

"And proud to be so." Glancing past the multi-coloured Auror, he caught a glimpse of the carnage that the young Order member had managed to leave in her wake. The cabinet had been all but emptied, its contents, both containers and their liquid, spread across a wide expanse of floor. A slightly damp and distinctly disgruntled Poppy Pomfrey was making short work of the vials and bottles with a nifty series of _Reparos _but there was little to be done about the potions that had so dramatically gained their freedom over floor and Auror both.

Tonks followed his gaze. Her blush deepened.

Remus shifted his eyes back to his visitor who had just deposited her lively load of chocolate on the night stand and retrieved a towel from one of the drawers; now her hurried rubbing was proceeding to dye the unfortunate whiteness in new and psychedelic shades. He smiled fondly.

"I'm sorry but I have to know," he said curiously. "How on earth did you manage to do that?"

Tonks buried her face in the towel. "_Truptovamarobes_," she muttered indistinctly, her voice muffled by both material and embarrassment, leaving the towel well informed but Remus none the wiser.

"Pardon?" he said gently.

Tonks dropped abruptly into the chair beside his bed, depositing the towel with a thump in her lap. Extensive towelling had done nothing to remove the vivid red stain from her cheek. "I tripped over my robes," she declared more articulately. "They're new, and kind of long, and well…"

"Householdy spells aren't your thing?" Remus smiled as she nodded reluctantly. "Give me a few days to get back on my feet and I'll take a look at them for you. After the hole you pulled me out of at The Howling it's the least I can do."

Tonks flashed a more genuine smile. "Really? Thanks, mate, that'd be great!" She picked disconsolately at the material, which was vibrating slightly under the strain of so many mixed potion ingredients. "Though I doubt they'll ever be the same again."

Remus settled down against his pillow, blinking the last shreds of sleep from his eyes. "I also have a recipe for an excellent cleansing potion. That, however, you will have to make yourself. Household spells may not be your sort of thing, but potions most definitely aren't mine. My poor mother quite despaired of me."

Tonks laughed. "Your talents seem to bend more in your father's direction. I was chatting to him earlier today and he was telling me about that menagerie of his and the number of times he caught you sneaking out at night to peak at the creatures when you were small." She grinned. "I like your dad. He's a character."

"That's a polite way of putting it." Wincing slightly, Remus pulled himself into a slightly more upright position. "So, Tonks, what brings you here? I'm sure you didn't come along purely to torment poor Madam Pomfrey."

"It wouldn't surprise me." Poppy's voice drifted irritably across the Hospital Wing. Remus chuckled as Tonks gave a rueful smile.

"Nah, the torment was entirely coincidental," she said with awkward cheerfulness. "Actually, I'm here for two reasons and for two different people." The smile dropped away into a more serious expression that made Remus stop laughing in turn.

"Ministry business first. Dawlish wants another interview and this time he wants to do it officially. I am supposed to ascertain whether or not you are fit enough to be dragged up to the Ministry for questioning."

Remus felt a nervous flicker in the depths of his stomach. "Why?"

"Because Dawlish is a prejudiced arse," Tonks proclaimed with all seriousness. "And he is incapable of getting his head round the idea that a werewolf could possibly have stood up and done something good without an ulterior motive. Don't worry too much though." She looked him up and down. "You're not fit for interview," she exclaimed briskly. "And in my professional opinion, you won't be for at least as long as it takes Kingsley to talk him down, whether you're feeling better or not. It'll be all right, Remus. Dumbledore won't let anything happen to you now. Not after this."

Remus nodded reluctantly, trying to force down the sudden surge of worry in his stomach. Surely there was no way even Dawlish could make this his fault…

"Speaking of Dumbledore, the second order of business is Order business." Tonks grinned once more. "I've been pretty thoroughly briefed by both sides of the fence on what happened last weekend, so the headmaster sent me to answer any questions you may have. Your dad said he only really got around to the basics and he hasn't been much involved in the logistics of the thing anyway. So, what do you want to know?"

Instantly, a thousand unanswered questions surged through Remus' head. There was so much confusion regarding the events of last weekend, so much he did not know or could not understand. His own involvement was clear but how things had come to be the way he found them remained a mystery. He barely knew where to start.

"Everything," he stated frankly. "What happened in Hogsmeade, how Kane managed to get inside and…" A horrified thought struck with substantial force. "_Hagrid!_" he exclaimed, appalled that he had not thought to ask sooner. "What happened to Hagrid, _Merlin,_ he wasn't moving …"

Tonks raised her hands sharply to cut off the guilt stricken torrent. "Hagrid's fine," she reassured him quickly. "Or at least, he's pretty battered, but he was very lucky. If he'd have been anyone else, he'd probably be dead by now."

Registering the confusion on her friend's face, Tonks sighed. "Look, the best thing is probably that I start from the beginning. Okay?"

Remus nodded obediently, trying to slow his hammering heart as the moment of panic faded away. "That's fine."

Resting her hands in her lap, Tonks leaned back in her chair and twisted her head sideways to gaze down at the resting professor beside her. "Well, the first we knew of the trouble in Hogsmeade was when Minerva McGonagall popped up in the emergency fire in our Ministry offices and told us there was a Dark Mark over Hogsmeade." She flashed a brief smile. "We have you to thank for that warning, I believe."

"Pure luck." Remus gave a shrug as he settled himself more comfortably back down beneath the covers, carefully wiping the last remnants of gunk from his shoulder. "I happened to look out the right window."

Tonks shrugged back. "And ran down far too many flights of stairs whilst feeling appalling to raise the alarm. But anyway, as you can imagine, all hell went and broke loose at that information and suddenly there were Aurors rushing around left, right and centre, bolting for the lift and the apparation points in the foyer; it took Kingsley and a couple of other bright sparks bellowing like lunatics to get the Ministry's finest lined up neatly and jumping one by one down the floo to the Three Broomsticks and the Hogshead. Being lowly as I am, I was well down the pecking order so by the time I went through, it was pretty much over." She shook her head with a whistle of awe. "Dumbledore in his full glory. It's quite a sight. Makes me glad I wasn't the one he was angry with."

Her eyes flickered as she sighed. "There were casualties though. Seven villagers died before help could arrive and another two got caught in the crossfire. And two Aurors were killed." She glanced over at Remus with an expression that mingled concern, sadness and guilt.

"One of them was Rowley," she admitted shakily. "I mean, he was an annoying prat but I never would have wished…"

Gently, Remus reached over and gave her hand a comforting squeeze. "Of course you wouldn't," he said softly, fighting his own hint of guilt at the memory of Rowley's vague and dreamy expression in The Howling. "There's nothing you could have done, Tonks."

"I guess that's true." Leaning back again, the Auror's face darkened considerably. "It seems that my dear Auntie Bellatrix was behind it -a bit of random terror for the weekend sets her right up - but of course she successfully managed to slip away into the night. A couple of her cohorts didn't, though, and they are being questioned right now. We're hoping to get some useful information." She frowned. "We've got hold of one decent nugget though. We have it on reliable authority that Bellatrix _personally_ invited Abraham Kane along for the ride. Liked his style apparently. But here's the thing – he turned her down." She pulled a face. "It seems he was already making his own plans for the full moon."

A dawning realisation struck Remus. "But Bellatrix had just provided him with a free distraction," he said softly. "And for clearing the school of full grown wizards, he couldn't have had a better one. He must have known the teachers would go to the villagers' aid and leave the children temporarily more vulnerable."

Tonks nodded. "Exactly. But here's the bit that's really ironic – it seems we inadvertently helped him get in."

At Remus' frown, she sighed again. "I don't know how much you remember about the time he attacked you in Hogsmeade," she said softly. "When we were chasing Kane, we lost him in the woods near the Shrieking Shack. One minute he was there, the next he was gone. We thought it was because he was a sneaky bugger, but we turned out to be wrong. Kane had a bit of an accident."

This time the thought struck like a thunderbolt. "The passage," Remus heard himself whisper. "The secret passage from the greenhouses, the one Hagrid was in. It leads to those woods."

Tonks rolled her head back and stared at the ceiling. "I guess the trapdoor must have gone rotten," she confirmed with sudden weariness. "Whatever the reason, Kane fell right through into the passageway. He probably couldn't believe his good fortune, a perfect hiding place by pure chance. And then, to cap it off, he follows the passage back and finds himself in Hogwarts!" She snorted bitterly. "Why do the bastards get all the luck?"

"They bribe the gods," Remus replied, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach. He suddenly had an ominous feeling about where this story was going to go, bits and pieces of conversations and situations adding themselves together in his head. And if he was right, he had been right there, right there in the same _bloody room_ as Kane and he had attributed the feeling of his presence that could have prevented all this to his aconite poisoning. "Go on."

"We reckon Kane probably lurked in the passage the rest of that day and made his escape overnight when the search parties retired. He probably rigged the broken trapdoor to cover himself; somebody certainly had." Tonks groped absently in the box she had brought, grasping one chocolate frog firmly as she pulled it from its card and bit off its head, before tossing a companion frog to Remus. He accepted it with a nod and awkwardly subdued it. "Now he had a way into Hogwarts and a distraction on the perfect night. All he needed now was a way into the castle itself. And that he picked up on the weekend we saw him at The Howling. We have reliable information to say that Abraham Kane paid a visit to Knockturn Alley that Sunday and we now know what he bought; a nice fresh batch of...."

"_Polyjuice _potion." Remus felt sick as his worst fears were confirmed. "That's it, isn't it? He bought Polyjuice potion, followed the tunnel onto the Hogwarts grounds and ambushed Hagrid as he checked for intruders."

Tonks nodded again. "Knocked him out cold. If it hadn't been for that tough half-giant physiology of his, it's fair bet that Kane would have killed him; in fact he probably thought he had. As it is, poor old Hagrid kept you company in here for several days."

Remus took up the tale once more, his mind running overtime. "And then Kane took the apparent _body_ and hid it back in the tunnel where I saw it on the map – he couldn't afford for anyone to come across Hagrid and blow his cover and that passage is more than big enough to hide even a half-giant in. And then he took one of Hagrid's hairs, dropped it in his potion, drank it down and walked back into the castle, bold as he liked." He gritted his teeth. "Right past me in fact. The _bastard_."

Tonks gave Remus a sideways look at the unexpected curse, unaware as Remus was of the added literal truth of the statement, and raised an eyebrow. "Quite," she added with fervour. "But there was a little more to it than that. You see, Hagrid wasn't Kane's originally intended target."

Remus glanced up at the Auror as he eased his frog away from its card. "How do you know that?" he asked.

Tonks frowned grimly. "Because Kane told us so. Proud of himself, he was, the foul, stinking son of a b…" She broke off, biting her lip at her companion's raised eyebrow as the irony of her almost insult struck home. "Anyway," she continued determinedly. "The Polyjuice was never intended to be used on Hagrid at all." She met his eyes with solemn sympathy. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but it can't be helped. Remus, Kane was planning to impersonate _you_."

Remus felt his stomach drop as a cold hollow of ice tightened around his chest. "What?" he whispered in shock.

Tonks rested comforting fingers against his hand. "Kane was planning to be you," she repeated softly. "His master plan was to sneak into Hogwarts before the Hogsmeade attack, sniff you out in whatever safe place he was sure you'd have sequestered yourself in for the pending moonrise, incapacitate you, smear a bit of blood about and knock back a dose of Polyjuice with your hair inside." She took a deep breath. "And then he planned to go downstairs…"

"…and transform in the Great Hall." Remus closed his eyes as the full horror of the prospect struck home. "And everyone would have thought…they would have blamed _me_…"

"Exactly. Harry and Merlin knows how many other kids dead, Voldemort grateful and you copping the blame. All he had to do was bite and bolt, wreak his havoc then get out the way he came in and the only person they'd find to arrest tomorrow would be a blood-covered you. It would have been Christmas come early for the feral git."

Remus suddenly felt ill and alarmingly fragile; he could feel his hand shaking in Tonks gentle grasp. Dear gods, what would have happened if…

_But it didn't happened. Why?_

Remus opened his eyes sharply, startling Tonks who had been reassuringly stroking his arm.

"What stopped him?" he questioned abruptly. "Why didn't he go through with it as planned?"

Tonks gave a twisted smile. "Because by some divinely ironic twist of fate, Auntie Bellatrix did us a favour." She released his arm and sat back with a sigh. "It seems that as Kane was sneaking though the woods outside Hogsmeade to slip down his tunnel onto the grounds, he found the Death Eater raiding party had chosen exactly the same spot to congregate before their offensive. And good old Auntie decided to take one last shot at persuading the feral to join her team. By the time he shook her off and bolted down the passage, he was already too late. The raid had begun, Hogwarts castle was locked down tighter than a drum by Dumbledore's emergency wards and you were standing in the middle of crowded room surrounded by witnesses. His chance was gone."

Remus sighed as he toyed with his chocolate frog absently. "Until poor Hagrid came along, searching the grounds for danger and gave him a second chance."

The Auror gave a grim nod. "Hagrid spotted him lurking about as he came back from sealing the gates and of course he tried to confront him. But even a half-giant doesn't stand a prayer against the strength and speed of a feral. And suddenly Kane had a chance to salvage his night of brutality, even if he couldn't blame you anymore." She gave a sudden crooked smile. "But his stroke of good luck wasn't quite as lucky as he'd thought. Polyjuice is only intended for _fully _human transformations."

A light clicked on sharply in Remus' head. "And Hagrid is _half-giant_," he exclaimed, allowing himself a slight smile. But then confusion replaced it with a frown. "But we know the potion worked…"

"Oh, it worked right enough." Tonks grinned. "But not quite as it should have. Not that Kane knew that at the time, of course; he just drank it down, and strolled inside as Hagrid."

The Auror gazed thoughtfully out of the window at the scattering of evening stars and the gleam of the waning moon. "He obviously didn't tell any of the Death Eaters in advance of what he was planning to do at Hogwarts – after all, it's pretty clear none of the Death Eater's kids had been warned that a werewolf might be dropping by for dinner. He just went ahead and did it. Some nerve, really."

Remus frowned as he took a comforting bite of chocolate. "That's not necessarily a good thing."

"I didn't say it was." The Auror sucked thoughtfully on her final frog leg for a moment. "Of course, no one questioned _Hagrid_'_s_ presence. He lurked about the Great Hall, waiting for moonrise. But then things started to go wrong for our over-ambitious feral. You see, a minute or so short of moonrise, the Polyjuice began to wear off." She tapped a thoughtful finger against the side of her chair. "Hagrid's half-giant blood meant that the disguise couldn't be maintained for the hour that Kane had expected he had. And suddenly Kane found himself on the verge of turning back into a magically vulnerable human shaped werewolf in a room full of wands."

She shifted her gaze back to her wounded friend once more. "And then, he panicked, tried to get out. He rushed over to where his biggest threat, Professor Snape, had just finished sealing the Great Hall doors, picked up a candlestick and smashed him over the head with it. Realising those doors weren't going to be opened again in a hurry, he started to make his way down the centre of the hall to make an escape through the far end windows. At that point, it rather dawned on the kids that something was amiss but by then the doors were sealed and it was too late. A moment later, the moon came up, Kane no longer needed to run and the threat of any magic they could have mustered against him became irrelevant."

She patted him gently on the arm. "The rest, I think, you know."

Remus gazed at the ceiling as he swallowed the last of his frog. Indeed he did.

"I don't understand why he didn't just get out after moonrise," he remarked softly. "He must have known the teachers wouldn't stay away forever and a feral werewolf still has enough human intelligence on a full moon to know when is a good time to leave. Once the children were behind the barricade, I'm amazed he didn't abandon the whole thing as a lost cause, jump out the window and either chase down the students that had run outside or go and join in at Hogsmeade."

Tonks sighed. "I overheard Dumbledore talking to some werewolf expert from the Ministry a few days ago," she said. "From what I could hear, she reckoned that the sheer frustration of his continually collapsing plans and his inability to sate himself on blood may have driven him into a bloodlust frenzy. He was so hacked off that he lost his grip on his human sense of logic and went into full crazed werewolf mode. And as I'm sure you know, a werewolf will always go for the nearest target; hence, the head-butting of the barricade. He needed to taste blood so badly, he went a bit berserk for a while. Escape was the last thing on his mind."

Remus stared absently into space as he drank this information in, ambiguous feelings running riot in his mind.

Where is Kane now?" he inquired, trying to make the question sound innocuous. The look of Tonks' face implied that he'd failed.

"Custody at the Ministry," she answered vaguely, the furtive look in her eyes suggesting that this was one subject on which she had been briefed not to provide too much information. "They're holding a hearing at the moment to decide what to do with him. Azkaban isn't the punishment it was without the Dementors running the show and, in spite of the big talk, nobody likes the sound of straight execution. The Ministry even have a couple of Dementors tucked away somewhere that are still mostly under their control; there's not enough of them to use on Azkaban, but there's talk of maybe administering the Kiss. But it's a mess all round – they just don't know what to do with him. I think they were hoping for him to die in the course of his capture and save them the trouble." She puffed her cheeks absently. "Mad-Eye's there giving evidence today and he's going to be there tomorrow when they give the verdict. He'll let us know what they decide."

Remus sighed. He was unsure of exactly how he was supposed to feel about the fate of his mother's killer, but he had certainly not expected the odd hollowness that had settled in his chest. A Ministry hearing? That didn't exactly fill him with confidence. Oh, Kane's guilt was in no doubt, but somehow he couldn't shake the feeling it would all backfire. Surely it couldn't be so simple after so much.

And there was still so much he did not understand. The full moon scrap as his father had designated it, had dealt with issue of the threat, but Remus felt somehow incomplete and unresolved. They should have _spoken_ at least There should have been words, not growls…

"Remus?" Tonks voice interrupted his musing. He glanced up, surprised to find that she had come to her feet. She was smiling at him.

"It's getting late," she said, fiddling slightly with the hem of her sleeve. "I'm going to nip off for a bath and some sleep before my clothes solidify."

Remus smiled back. "That sounds reasonable."

The smile on the Auror's face spread suddenly to a grin. "One thing before I go though. The Three Broomsticks, 6pm a week today. You, me and several bottles of good old butterbeer. I will accept no excuse but death."

Remus blinked. "Pardon?"

Tonks laughed wickedly. "I'll spell this out, since you've had a long week. I want you to come for a drink with me. Next Tuesday. The Three Broomsticks."

"You…I…_what_?" Remus blurted. He had never been at his most articulate or intelligent when he was tired but _surely_ she wasn't asking....

One word leapt insensitively to the forefront of his mind and emerged before he could stop it. "_Why?_"

Tonks shrugged easily. "Because I like you, you daft sod. You're good company and we both need a decent mate right now who knows what's really going on. Not to mention the fact that you're painfully in need of a social life."

Remus re-gathered his faculties sharply. "Thanks," he drawled dryly.

"Don't mention it." Tonks beamed brightly. "Oh, don't look so scared. It's just a drink between friends. Trust me Remus, if I was planning to seduce you, I'd be plying you with firewhiskey, not butterbeer and chocolate."

She _wasn't _asking. Feeling a little silly, Remus regarded her. "You scare me," he confessed frankly.

The Auror grinned back as she stepped towards the gap in the curtains. "Pleased to hear it. I'll probably see you tomorrow. And I will definitely see you next week. No excuse but death, remember?"

Remus gave his best pathetic look. "Make sure I get a nice eulogy, won't you?"

Tonks laughed. "Watch it, or I may have to take my chocolate back. Goodnight Remus."

"Goodnight Tonks."

With a last sunny smile, the Auror turned and disappeared into the Hospital Wing. Quietly Remus settled back comfortably and counted under his breath.

"Three, two, one…"

CRASH! 

"_Nymphadora Tonks!_"

Chuckling to himself, Remus rolled over onto his uninjured side and closed his eyes. But with the tinkling of glass, the swearing and the apologies that echoed from the room beyond, it was some time before he got back to sleep.

**A/N**: Ah plotholes. Like bear traps, they linger waiting in the undergrowth for the moment when the fool who placed them there forgets their presence and stumbles blindly in. Ow. It was my own fault really. Way back when, in the days when Oblivious was only supposed to be 12 chapters long (hey, it only ended up almost four times longer than I intended. That's not that bad for me...) I had intended for Kane to remain Polyjuiced a great deal longer than he eventually did; one hour to be exact. But in the process of adaption as I wrote and everything changed, I managed to forget this crucial detail and it was not until I came to write this chapter and realised that Kane's Polyjuice had in fact worn off after only twenty minutes, that the bear trap was sprung. However, handy with a crowbar and medical equipment was my trusty beta Chriss, who after pointing out the lameness of my attempt to patch this hole, came up with the Hagrid's physiology explanation that you see before you. So please, direct your adulation for such insight in her direction. I'm still prizing off the bear trap....;)

**Reviewer Responses**:

**Neoma **– The final chapter will be chapter 42. So after this chapter, I have nine left to post. I do have an idea for a sequel but at the moment I really don't have time to write it, I'm afraid.:( If I do find time though, I will with pleasure. :) As for your extended assessment – it's very perceptive! :) The matter of Reynard seeing Remus in his wolf form will be addressed – I was going to include it in the last chapter but I found a more appropriate place for it later on instead. :)

**CurlsofSerenity** – Tonks and Remus – oh, heck, what a chapter to be answering this one! Ummm… when I started this fic I had no intention of pairing Remus with anybody and I have decided after much deliberation to end it that way as well. I like the chemistry that has developed in the writing between Remus and Tonks but in this fic I'm not going to take it any further. I have too many other issues to resolve! As for the plot to get Harry – well it's been thwarted for now. ;)

**The Thief Kuronue** – The second hand was Poppy's. Glad you liked it! :)

**Kittylace** – I did! I posted on the afternoon of New Year's day! Give me time to wake up! ;) And I love Rey too. Glad you like it! And thank you for the love! :)

**Hiss** – Brace yourself – Remus will be in the Hospital Wing for a few chapters yet. :) I usually update (British Time) morning to midday on Saturday and evening after work on Wednesday. The issue of any possible debts between Snape and Remus will be addressed in a later chapter. :)

**TwizzlerChick106** – Glad you liked it. Kane is alive for a plot reason that will be addressed later. I have sequel ideas but no time to write as present. :/

**Kookoomaroo** – I'm glad you like it! And school activity is good! :)

**a (very) happy bibliophile** - :) Remus' rep with the press will be addressed in the near future and Dawlish's feelings have also been made clear (dear me! You people aren't half picking out my future plot points here!;)) Most of the rest, I openly admit, is mopping up and loose end tying but there are still several very important matters to be addressed and resolved, such as what is to be done with Kane…;) I do have a short story/one-shot plan of the events surrounding The Infamous Bathroom Incident that I may write at some point in the future, but as I think I've said, I just don't have time right now. I certainly will if I can though! :)

**Howling Wolf 22** – Kane has survived for a good, plot related, reason (or I think it's good anyway so I hope folks agree). I think he'll probably survive the visits. ;)

**Dortha** – Thank you very much indeed! :)

**aurelie1 **– Nope, he's much better than he thought he was. And explanations have begun! :)

**JennyJoy4** – The Aurors have a very secure place to keep Kane, believe me – they won't risk another embarrassing escape on their record! And Remus is alive and sane indeed! :)

**vanquish-the-star** – Thank you very much! It is a plot that required a lot of thought so I'm glad you like it! :)

**Arcadia-of-the-East** – Thank you very much! Sorry about the wait, I was having a meanie fit (but I did so want to write Rey's reaction!) :)

**bookworm-jill** – The next few chapters will admittedly be quieter but meaningful. I hope that doesn't put you off but I felt both Remus and the readers needed a rest…;)

Thank you all very much for your reviews! The next part will be up on Saturday. :)


	34. Exposed

**A/N**: Ghost writing for the Daily Prophet today will be my beta Chriss Corkscrew who, having labelled my first attempts at journalistic bile as "far too well balanced", promptly wrote her own version and proceeded to prove that she is indeed a far better Tabloid Hack than I am...;)

**A/N Extra**: Apologies for posting a day later than usual- believe me when I say I tried to post this yesterday but despite attempts made at various times throughout the day that ranged from 9am to after 9pm (British Time), not once would FFNet let me log in. I don't know if it hated me personally or if everyone had the same problem, but it was most frustrating. I'm just glad it seems to be feeling better today. :)

_34: Exposed_

It was the light of advancing morning tickling the edges of his face that finally drew Remus once more back into the realm of the living. For a moment, he simply lay, eyes closed, ignoring the aches in his body and the persistent but easing tiredness of his mind and enjoying simple sensations he had for a while suspected he would never feel again; the soft, chilled breath that brushed his cheek from the slightly open window to his right, the soft, crisp rub of sheets, the sound of the gentle swish of the concealing curtains around his bed, the distant creak of the wind catching trees all but stripped of their leaves by autumn's fall and the strident sound of his father's voice venturing into vocal territory that Anti-werewolf protestors everywhere had learned to respect at a distance…

_Dad?_

Remus opened his eyes. Quickly.

"…don't know how you managed to weasel your way past the Aurors at the gates and frankly I don't much _care_. I also don't know where you got this information, although to say I don't care about _that_ would be a gross misstatement since I have every intention of tracking down this _reliable source_ of yours who sees fit to break my family's trust and feeding him _piece_ by _rotten piece_ to my _menagerie_!"

Oh no. He knew that tone. That tone meant trouble. That tone meant danger. That tone rippled with a powerful undercurrent, an undercurrent that proclaimed quite fluently: _I'm not going to hurt you at this moment. For this instant in time you shall be tolerated. But set one millimetre of a toenail out of line and I will make your ancestors wish they had never been born_.

It was also a tone that said: _if Remus doesn't do something soon, I'm probably going to kill you in the very near future._

Great.

_Oh Merlin, why me? Why now?_

Only a severe burst of pain prevented Remus from making a dramatic leap of out bed. He got as far as flinging back the sheets before blossoms of agony throughout his legs and torso made their presence very much felt and stalled his attempt at motion with a reasonably agonised expression and a lip bitten firmly against whimpering. Even a high pain threshold had its limits.

Moving gingerly and with a great deal more care as he muttered phrases of which Poppy Pomfrey would have certainly disapproved, Remus settled temporarily for resting his feet on the floor and listening with apprehension. It was only then that he realised, to his surprise, that the angry voice was not coming from beyond the curtains shrouding his bed at all. It was coming from outside the window.

"..if you think I have any intention of allowing you or any of your kind to bother my son with your intrusive, insensitive questions after all he's been through, then you are even more stupid than you look and my dear, _that_ is _saying _something. Now, I suggest you make a _very _rapid escape from my sight before I escort you up to the Astronomy Tower and hang you by your earlobes from the battlements as an example to others. Am I making myself _clear?_"

Oddly enough, the phrasing did not worry Remus too greatly. What really concerned him was the round of _applause_.

Gritting his death with ominous determination, Remus pulled himself to his feet and stumbled the requisite yard to the Hospital wing window. The sight he beheld made him wish he'd stayed in bed.

Reynard Lupin was leaning with deceptive casualness against the wall of Hogwarts castle, one hand, which was grasping a crumpled newspaper, extended to rest against the stones in a relaxed concealment of the necessity of supporting his crippled leg. The need for such support was apparent in the fact that his cane was extended out in his other hand at arms length before him, rather occupied in burying its tip into the gaudy spectacled nose of reporter Rita Skeeter. A rapidly gathering audience of children, who had apparently caught sight of the spectacle out of the window on their way between classes, appeared to be cheering him on.

_Oh dear gods. Don't encourage him!_

Rita sniffed, not an easy feat under the circumstances as she clutched her crocodile skin handbag almost reassuringly. "Mr Lupin," she managed awkwardly, flashing his father an incredibly insincere and ever so slightly patronising half-smile. "I just want to get the facts. Surely the public has a right to know…"

"My family's private business?" Reynard cut sharply across her words, the tip of his cane forcing an abrupt silence. "I fail to see why anyone should be privy to that who has not been directly told by either my son or myself. To have taken such a liberty already, to make such _ridiculous _claims and now to come sniffing around for _more_…"

There was genuine anger in his father's low tone and genuine distress; unaware as he was of the cause, Remus knew it was definitely time to put a stop to the show.

"Dad."

Reynard looked sharply over. There was an abrupt silence amongst the onlookers. In spite of the threat of imminent violence, Rita Skeeter's eyes lit up.

His father met his eyes. "You shouldn't be on your feet," he told his son firmly. "Bed rest means staying in bed, Remus."

Remus manfully resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Funnily enough, I was having trouble sleeping," he commented dryly. "There were these voices outside my window…"

Reynard had the grace to look embarrassed. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"I know." Remus sighed. "But I think we need to have a word in private, don't you?"

With a recalcitrant frown, Reynard nodded and turned sharply to his bespectacled nemesis. With a sharp prod of his cane, he sent her stumbling backwards.

"Off the premises," he declared coldly. "I mean it. If I catch you lurking around again, you'll be wearing that handbag up your right nostril. And I'll let you imagine what'll be going up the _left_."

With a final flourish of his cane, Reynard turned and limped with straight-backed dignity in the direction of the main doors. The crowd parted respectfully as he made his way up the steps, watching as he nodded politely to the black robed figure that had just appeared through the doors and was eyeing the cluster of children with distinct irritation. Severus Snape inclined his head, if only barely, to the father of his colleague before he turned his attention abruptly on the suddenly nervous gathering below.

"Don't you have _lessons_ to go to?" he drawled with an arctic glint in his eye. "You recall, perhaps, that you are here to learn? If I find any of you still outside in ten seconds from now, I will personally deduct fifty points from the house of every student I lay eyes on. _Move!_"

The crowd dispersed with astonishing speed. Snape's gaze fixed for a moment on the lurking form of Rita Skeeter, her nose painted with a bright scarlet welt, and his curled his lip with disdain.

"And you, _Madam_, are not welcome," he intoned frostily. "I suggest you remove yourself before either the headmaster or Mr Lupin return." His eyes flickered towards the window where Remus still lingered; an odd look that seemed to mingle fury, resentment and uncertainty flashed across his face. "Lupin," he acknowledged with stiff dislike.

Remus inclined his head in return. "Severus."

The gesture went unnoticed. Snape had already swept his way back up the steps and vanished into the school.

The intensive gaze of eyes drew his attention back to the winged glasses and swollen nose of Rita Skeeter. She was eyeing him in a manner reminiscent of a vulture circling a particularly juicy carcass.

"Professor Lupin," she exclaimed, flashing a mouth full of teeth as she fumbled in her handbag for her notebook and Quick Quotes Quill. "Do you have any comment you'd like to make? An exclusive interview perhaps? A few words from the controversial werewolf teacher regarding his harrowing fight to bring down the feral that…"

Her voice tailed away sharply under the sheer glacial weight of the glare she received; Remus then politely graced her with a half-hint of a deathly smile.

"Go_ away_," he stated softly, but his mild, low tone concealed the force and weight of a rampaging Hebridean Black. "_Shoo_."

Rita's smile dissolved like a badly planned potions experiment.

"But…" She started. There may have been more, but the emphatic closing of the window mercifully concealed it. With a sigh, Remus allowed himself to slump backwards onto his bed and wearily closed his eyes.

He did not rest for long. The scrap of curtain ring upon curtain rail and rustle of paper announced the arrival of his father.

Stretching with a wince, Remus pulled himself into a sitting position as he pointedly ignored his father's look of disapproval as he fixed the older man with a steely stare of his own.

"Well?" he queried softly.

Reynard sighed deeply. "Before you say another word," he said wearily. "I think you'd better read this."

He extended a crumpled bundle of newspaper. Accepting it with a small frown, Remus gently smoothed back the crinkled newsprint, caught a glimpse of the front page and froze.

Staring back at him, from the front page of that morning's edition of the Daily Prophet, was his badly scarred and miserable-looking three-year-old self. It was the picture from Kane's Ministry file.

The headline above could not have made things plainer.

_WEREWOLF FEUD ENDANGERS HOGWARTS. _

_Feral Captured By Former Victim!_

Remus struggled to breath. This couldn't be happening. How could one of the most personal, most terrible, most _private _moments of his life have just been splashed across the front page of a newspaper for the entire wizarding world to see? And how the _hell _had the Prophet got its hands on that picture? Those files were supposed to be _confidential!_

His eyes were drawn with grim inevitability to the report below. Just how much did they know?

_Abraham Kane, brutal murderer, feral werewolf and alleged Death Eater, currently languishes in ministry custody after the dramatic events at Hogwarts during last Friday's full moon, writes Rita Skeeter. Whilst this can only reassure our readers, the Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal that the relationship between Kane and Remus Lupin, the controversial werewolf appointed by Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry against the wishes of many in our community, is far from innocent. We can now expose the dark past of Lupin, not simply as another werewolf, but as one that was sired by Kane during his malicious vendetta against the Lupin family._

_The feral's vicious solo attack on the students of Hogwarts school, aided, some may consider by the questionable judgement of Albus Dumbledore which left our children virtually unprotected in the face of a Death Eater attack, culminated in a shocking fight between the two beasts which severely endangered the students. Indeed, rather than protect the innocents from Kane, the supposed teacher chose to act out his frenzied revenge against his lifelong enemy._

"_They were just biting and ripping and clawing at each other," sobs one young Hogwarts student, fingering his green tie nervously, "He's meant to be our teacher and we just had to fight off the beast ourselves."_

_A reliable source for the Daily Prophet reports the germination of this rivalry to lie with the actions of Reynard Lupin, retired Exterminator for the Ministry, who, in 1962, was involved in a botched sting operation that resulted in the death of Kane's infamously brutal mate, Hel. Kane's swift retaliation not only targeted the Lupin family, kidnapping and biting the child Remus and crippling Reynard, but also the other members involved in the incident, resulting notably in the brutal murder of Orestes Bevan, Auror, with his wife and children earlier the same night._

"_The turning of a werewolf is a pivotal moment," a lycanthropy expert explains to our readers, "The mental state of the victim, the circumstances under which transformation first takes place, these affect a victim throughout the remainder of their unhappy life. It is possible that revenge on Kane has driven Lupin throughout his life, in his travels and in his career. Single-minded. Blinkered to his revenge. Such a bloody feud may only be ended through a frenzied fight to the death, something that Lupin has now been denied."_

_However pitiable the circumstances surrounding Lupin's lycanthropic origins, this paper urges Dumbledore to reconsider his appointment of a werewolf to the Defence Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts. Taking this evidence into consideration, such action is necessary not only to reassure the wizarding community that the blatant ferocity behind this vicious conflict will not reappear towards another victim, perhaps even a student at the school, but to make certain that a known werewolf with violent tendencies is not changing the curriculum to suit his own ends and that of his kind. It must also surely be acknowledged that there has been no proof connecting Kane with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named accept in the word of Professor Lupin himself. Similarly, on both occasions Kane has been sighted in the vicinity of Hogwarts, it has been Lupin he has been found fighting with. Surely this cannot be a coincidence. This reporter concludes that the You-Know-Who connection may be nothing more than a cover up for a long standing blood feud between these werewolves that has placed our children in mortal danger. We must ask ourselves whether this is a suitable man in whom to place the care of our children, a known werewolf with a secret vendetta of his own, and whether Dumbledore should be made to account for his irresponsible appointments that only ever seem to endanger the lives of our students…_

The report continued through several more paragraphs in the same vitriolic vein. By the time he had finished reading, Remus felt physically sick.

It could have been worse, he tried to tell himself. It was only the bite that Rita Skeeter had uncovered – there was no mention of his mother, or Abel Isaacs, or _god forbid_, his feral incidents. But that did not change the fuel that the reporter had hurled upon the fire. And it certainly would not alter the consequences of the blaze.

Dawlish for one would be lapping it up.

"So may I go and finish her off now?" Reynard requested with humourless smile as he settled back down at his son's bedside. "I have some ideas involving your mother's old potion kit and a Grindylow I'm sure you'll approve of."

"I'll hold her down." The younger Lupin handed back the paper, his mind reeling with an odd mix of subdued anger and weary resignation. "Who told her?"

Reynard's features flashed with brief, undirected fury. "We don't know yet, but Alastor's already looking into it. He's promised me that when he does find out, he'll beat the loud-mouthed fool to death with his wooden leg and let me kick the remains. But satisfying as that will be, it's not going to erase this morning's paper."

That was undeniably true. Closing his eyes with a weary sigh, Remus allowed his head to drop against the headboard of his bed with a small thud. His skull was suddenly pounding and his stomach rolled. Too good to be true. He should have known.

"Twice," he muttered bitterly. "And from the same job. That's got to be a record. I thought I'd at least last the term…"

He heard his father's sharp intake of breath. "What do you mean?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Remus could feel sharp regret and weary acceptance tangling inside his chest. "I was on shaky ground to begin with and there's no way I'll be able to stay after this. No one will trust me; and they certainly won't want me endangering their children with my wicked _werewolf feuds_. I'm going to have to…"

"Resign?" The soft familiar voice broke gently into his sentence. "I think not. Not this time."

Remus abruptly opened his eyes. The gentle blue gaze of Albus Dumbledore stared back from the gap in the curtain's curve.

Remus immediately shook his head. "How can I stay? The governors…"

"Have already spoken on the matter." The headmaster gave a twinkling smile as he stepped quietly inside the protective swath of curtain. "And given that there are several hundred students in this castle who can and will willingly testify to the fact that you were most emphatically locked out of the Great Hall when Abraham Kane made his appearance _and_ that he was clearly targeting Harry Potter on several occasions during the ensuing incident, I cannot see how anyone can claim that he was possibly there due to _you_. And given that those same students will also attest that you at no point showed any inclination to harm them and only involved yourself in fighting Kane in order to ensure their escape, I think Miss Skeeter's assumptions can be safely discredited. The governors have no objections."

"The Ministry…."

"Mr Dawlish will be made to see reason." There was a note of ominous steel to the old headmaster's voice. "Have no fear on that account."

"But the children…"

"Are mostly of the opinion that Rita Skeeter is, to quote young Mr Weasley, _talking a load of bloody troll-dung_. I believe there is already a petition going around to persuade you to stay. Harry Potter knows you rather too well, I suspect."

Remus flushed slightly. "Am I that predictable?" he murmured awkwardly.

"Just honourable." Dumbledore smiled again. "And that is no bad thing. And so it is with deep regret, Professor Lupin, that I must inform you that no resignation will be accepted. You will serve the duration of your contract and, I would like to hope, beyond it."

"I'm pleased to hear that." Reynard caught his son's gaze with a wry smile as he turned towards the headmaster. "The last thing I need is him mooching round the house again, cooking edible food, using my study, tidying up things that don't need to be tidied, shedding on the living room rug…"

Remus half-heartedly swiped at his father's arm. "I thought I was better than the housekeeper."

Reynard openly grinned. "That shows you how bad that blasted housekeeper is."

A thought occurred. "Don't tell me you've left the poor woman to look after your menagerie. You _know_ she hates that shed and everything in it."

His father looked vaguely offended. "Mrs Wenn may be a patronising, overbearing excuse for a witch who treats me as though I'm crippled in the brain instead of the leg, but I'm not _that _cruel. Old Lanark said he'd drop by and feed them. It's good of him really – the Isle of Barra to Devil's Bridge is a heck of a way to apparate at his age."

A frightening mental image danced across Remus' mind. "Angus Lanark? Your old workmate? Eighty years old, eye-patch, kilt, tendency to cackle and chase after plump middle-aged women?"

Reynard said nothing. He merely grinned.

Remus sighed deliberately, fighting desperately not to smile at the visions of a possible encounter that his imagination was conjuring. Mrs Wenn had been known to make sniffy comments about werewolves on several occasions.

"That was nice of you," he commented blandly.

Dumbledore was smiling too. "It's good to know these things are in hand," he remarked mildly. "But since my business here appears to be concluded, I think it is time for some more entertaining visitors. Mr Potter, Miss Granger, Mr Weasley and Mr Longbottom have all been very anxious to see you. They have been positively pestering poor Madam Pomfrey for news."

Remus glanced at his headmaster with a frown. "Shouldn't they be in class?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I believe they are currently scheduled to be in a Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. Unfortunately their teacher is a little indisposed. I felt under the circumstances that they would be under appropriate supervision here."

Reynard rose awkwardly back to his feet. "And I think I'll stretch my legs a little more, if you don't mind. I'm all seized up from sitting in this chair half the week and my last stroll was rather interrupted."

Remus gave his father a suspicious stare. "Don't kill her. When it happens, I want to be there."

His father nodded with a show of reluctance. "That's only fair. See you later."

Dumbledore nodded. "Remus."

"Albus." Remus followed his gaze, his eyes fixing at once on a cluster of four anxious faces being herded into the hospital wing by a reluctant Poppy Pomfrey.

And then suddenly, unexpected, Remus found himself swamped with apprehension. Faded memories of the scent of blood and fear tugged at his mind, visions of terrified white faces and the brief, terrible moment when he had contemplated turning on them and tearing them to pieces. They didn't know, of course. They couldn't. But Remus did, and the very thought filled him with self-disgust and fear. How could they not tell what he had become? How could they not treat him differently after the way they had seen him behave?

The last time he had seen these children, he had been a monster. What would they think of him now?

Harry caught his eye and gave a tentative smile. He was carrying a large bundle of paper.

Bracing himself as much against his own sense of self-consciousness as against the opinions of the children, Remus managed to smile back. But inside, his stomach was churning. Harry, Ron and Hermione were a slightly different case, of course – they had seen the wolf before. But on that terrible night, it had _truly_ been the wolf they had seen, a monster that shared their teacher's body, not their teacher inside of a monster. In a way, his actions had been excusable then– they had known and been able to tell themselves that it hadn't _really _been Professor Lupin anymore. But this was different. He had been Remus Lupin inside and they had known it.

And they had watched him scrap with another werewolf like an animal.

And as for Neville and the rest of the school…

They had known now of course, his students, about his condition. But now they had seen him. Now it was _real_.

He could still remember vividly the looks on the faces of James, Peter and Sirius on the day he had returned to the dormitory after their first night of seeing him transformed. Oh, they had not openly treated him differently, but there had been a _look_ in their eyes that was unmistakable, a look that hinted of fear and awe, of pity, horror and apprehension all tangled unavoidably together. Until that night, Remus the werewolf had been an abstract concept for them, known and imagined but never really understood.

And now that look would linger in the eyes of half of the students of this school.

Would they still accept him? Would they treat him any differently?

He was about to find out.

**A/N:** The newspaper report was an extra idea I had on the day of writing this chapter. It was only supposed to be a little precursor to the chat with the kids but it was so much fun to do that it developed a life - and a chapter - of its own. I just liked the idea of getting a glimpse of public opinion - and of course seeing Rita Skeeter get a cane jammed up her nose...

Before I launch into my responses, I'm just going to clarify a point that a couple of people have remarked upon. Yes, it is true that I have an idea for a sequel. However, as things stand in my life at the moment, what I don't have is the all important free time to write said sequel and this situation is not going to change in the imminent future. Therefore any sequel will not be started, let alone posted before Easter at the very, VERY earliest. And I mean that. That is the absolute first, outside, remotest, most unlikely possible starting date. I really, really do want to write this sequel and I very much hope I can find the time to do so. But please don't get your hopes up for an immediate follow on because it isn't going to happen. :(

There. I hope I didn't come across as Miss Grumpy Author there, because that's not my intent at all. I just wanted to absolutely clarify the situation so that nobody gets disappointed or disheartened if a sequel is a little while in coming. :)

And now on….

**Reviewer Responses**:

**CurlsofSerenity **– Well, Kingsley is the one who has been put in charge of holding Kane so one likes to think he'll do a little better. ;) I like R/T too but have chosen not to complicate matters so late into the story. ;) And I agree, it is hard to find slash-free Lupin stories, isn't it?

**Moony-Chan** – Ummm… no, Lupin isn't going to be feral as of the moment. But he is alive…

**Jello** – Welcome back! And see, all better…:)

**KnightMara **– I love Tonks too. I never intended to include her beyond chapter 4 when I started this story but every time I wrote her she grew on me more until she is now an intricate part of the story! :) I think Remus needs some quiet time, bless him. And I will pass your admiration of the plot hole solution to my beta, whose genius mind thought it up. ;)

**aurelie1** – I couldn't kill Hagrid. That would have been mean…;) And yes, Kane had evil plans…;) Thank you very much! :)

**Howling Wolf 22** – I've tried to balance clumsy Tonks with professional Tonks throughout this fic as both must obvious exist. But I wanted at least one big accident, bless her…;) The drink was originally going to be offscreen, but it is written now so will be seen. :) And the massed visits are indeed imminent…;)

**Lucathia Rykatu** – I'm glad you're feeling better! :) Things are indeed winding down now, although I hope people don't mind that. :) Regarding the plot hole – I'm one of those picky readers who notices plot holes and mistakes in the reading of other people's works so I try to be equally scrupulous in my writing so as not to get caught out by someone like me! ;) I am sorry about Rowley, but I felt there ought to be at least one named casualty. :( I'm glad Kane failed too! And Tonks is a sweetie, bless her…:)

**Hiss **– I did mention sequel but not right away – see the author's not above for details. And I felt at this juncture, I might as well leave the fic ship free. Bless Tonks…;)

**Unforgettable **– Glad you like it! Remus/Tonks is a pairing I'm fond of too but I've decided to leave this fic ship free. :)

**bookworm-jill** - -pats Remus on the head and feeds him chocolate- It's not like I'm bribing him or anything…honest….;)

**a happy bibliophile** – The next chapter was ready and waiting for FFNet to get their act together! And I'm not much of a shipper, but of the ships out there, I think Lupin-Tonks is my favourite too. :)

Thank you all very much for reviewing and next post will be Wednesday as usual, (FFNet permitting)! :)


	35. Visiting Time

**A/N**: It has been pointed out to me that Ron very rarely receives any moments of glory. I didn't have many to spare, but I like to think I've squeezed him in a little one…;)

_35: Visiting Time_

Four figures in school robes shuffled awkwardly into the limited space enclosed by the broad curtain. After only a moment of cramped elbowing, Hermione turned with an impatient huff and dragged the curtain back out of the way. Opened to the rest of the Hospital Wing, the space issue resolved, Ron, Neville and Hermione all dropped themselves onto the edge of the neighbouring bed, their expressions displaying varying degrees of pleasure, wariness and uncertainty. There was however, no mistaking the look on one particular face. With an echoing thud, Harry Potter deposited his papery burden on the nightstand and turned to face his teacher with stubborn and determined defiance.

"There's about three hundred signatures there," he informed Remus briskly. "And that's only what we've managed to collect since the article appeared at breakfast. We've got most of the Gryffindors now and a good number of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs too. There's even a few Slytherins who've signed! Hagrid's put his name down and when Professor Flitwick caught us passing it out in Charms, he took a few sheets to give to his next class! So you see you _can't _resign again. We won't _let _you."

Crossing his arms with a final nod, Harry abruptly thumped down onto the bed side chair that Reynard had recently occupied, his green-eyed stare emphatically daring Remus to disagree. His three companions echoed his sternness.

Examining their faces slowly, Remus fought down a sudden rush of euphoria. It was _true_. Being told by Dumbledore that the students wanted him to stay was one thing; seeing it for himself was another entirely. But these four – they were a special case. Surely not _all _the children would feel this way…

His eyes fell upon the papery bundle beside Harry. Carefully, trying to ignore the scrutinising glare of four sets of eyes, he lifted the top few sheets from the pile and drew them close enough to read. After only a moment's perusal of the hastily scrawled top line, written with a conflict of comments between Hermione's familiar handwriting and Ron's hurriedly scribbled annotations, he raised an eyebrow and fought back a smile.

_We, the undersigned, as students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, would like to declare that we believe that Rita Skeeter's article to be - a steaming pile of Hippogriff dung – both biased and untrue. We would also like to declare our support for Professor Lupin, a – bloody brilliant Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher – well-respected member of the faculty and our wish that he remain as a teacher here for the foreseeable future -otherwise we might end up with more Snape-. We also wish to express our gratitude to Professor Lupin for his willingness to risk his life for ours. Thank you for your time. _

_Harry Potter._

_Ronald Weasley._

_Hermione Granger._

_Ginevra Weasley._

_Neville Longbottom._

_Dean Thomas._

_Katie Bell._

_Luna Lovegood._

_Anthony Goldstein._

_Ernie Macmillan._

_Susan Bones._

_Theodore Nott._

_Colin Creevey._

_Dennis Creevey…_

The list went on… and _on_, spanning several sheets and including pupils of all years and all houses. Even simply scanning the names, Remus was almost overwhelmed. Such a show of support – and all for _him_?

When he finally managed to tear himself away from the hypnotic swell of signatures, four anxious but determined faces gazed back at him.

"You're a little late," he ventured softly. "I have already spoken on this matter to Professor Dumbledore." He rebutted the instant trepidation on their faces with a wry smile. "He has refused my resignation. Whether I like it or not, I'm not going anywhere."

"Yes!" Ron's exuberant exclamation broke the smile into a rueful grin – the faces of Hermione and Harry showed similar signs of happiness and relief. Neville however was regarding him with unexpected shrewdness.

"So… you don't _want _to stay?" he asked suddenly.

The joyful mood abruptly faltered. Remus sighed.

"Of course I _want_ to stay," he said, gazing down at the blankets with weary discomfort. "I just wasn't sure that I _should_. Or that I would still be _welcome…_"

"But why would you think that?" Hermione's voice cut in sharply. "_You _didn't attack us or put us in danger and whatever that appalling Skeeter woman says, we _know_ you only fought Kane to keep him away from us! You helped _save_ us! Blood feuds, werewolf wars, I mean it's absolutely ridiculous! That article is nothing but a pile of prejudiced, vindictive, fabricated…"

"Hermione." Despite the soft tone, Remus' voice nevertheless brought the Gryffindor Prefect's tirade to an abrupt close. "Although the spin Miss Skeeter has elected to use is inaccurate to say the least, many of the facts in that article are true. I don't know exactly how it is she found out, but I cannot deny that I _was _bitten by Abraham Kane."

Hermione's mouth closed with a snap. There was a stunned silence.

"But…" Ron's bemused stammer was nonetheless vaguely accusatory. "You told us you didn't remember…"

Remus met his eyes sincerely. "And when I told you that, I didn't," he stated firmly. "However my encounter with Abraham Kane in Hogsmeade provided my memory with a bit of a jolt. My father filled the gaps in for me whilst I was recovering."

"Then that picture was really you?" Harry's voice was a mixture of shock and an odd kind of understanding. "That scar…"

Wordlessly, Remus reached down and slightly lifted his pyjama top. Tooth-torn scar tissue of more than thirty years before peaked vividly out over the top of more recent bandaging. All four of the teenagers winced but none more so than Harry.

Remus gave the Boy-Who-Lived a sympathetic smile. "You and I have something in common, Harry, in that both our lives have been altered in childhood by those who hate us for no reason. I've been lucky at least that the scar that changed _my_ life is usually out of sight." He lowered his top once more and rubbed absently at his still damaged neck with a sigh. "Unlike a few more recent additions…"

A flurry of awkward glances were exchanged. "So…" Ron finally ventured cautiously. "How much of that article _is _true then?"

Remus leaned back against the bed-head, fighting back unpleasant memories. "The circumstances she describes leading up to my being bitten are accurate, if a little exaggerated," he admitted. "However Miss Skeeter's interesting take on my malicious werewolf mentality is pure invention. It would be rather difficult for me to have a lifelong hatred and yearning for revenge against someone I only learned the significance of just over two weeks ago."

There was slight hint of relief lingering around Hermione's face as she smiled. "That's what we thought," she told him emphatically. "Rita Skeeter loves to twist the facts. She's nothing but a nasty, trouble-making hack and now everybody knows it. Everyone who was in that hall heard Sir Nicholas say who told him the spell that got us out before Kane's werewolf could break down the barricades; plenty of others saw you rescue Professor Snape and drive that feral away from Harry. And I don't care what they say, _I _believe you if you say Kane is a Death Eater…"

In spite of the supportive nature of Hermione's rant, Remus felt obliged to make a point of order. "I said Kane was working for Voldemort," he injected gently. "I never said he was a Death Eater because I know for a fact he refused the Dark Mark. He's more of a twisted kind of freelancer who volunteered to serve Voldemort's cause because he thought it would be fun."

"Oh." Hermione took the correction with good grace. "Well, it's all the same, he's still working for the most evil wizard alive. Even if you had been trying to kill him, you'd have done the world a _favour_."

Remus fought down a guilty surge of conscience at the memory of his intentions on his second visit to The Howling. Although he was certain that he was by no means as bad as Rita Skeeter had implied, it seemed his students' view of him was also a little rose-tinted.

To hide his discomfort, he forced himself to smile. "As it happens, I didn't need to," he said as lightly as he could manage. "I had Neville to come to my rescue."

The round-faced boy turned pink and stared embarrassed at his shoes. "Well…it wasn't really anything…" he stammered uncertainly. "I mean it was something…I'm not saying I didn't want to help you or anything… but I'm sure someone else would have thought of something better." He tried to smile. "I just saw that big silver chandelier hanging over it and I remembered that joke you made in class. I didn't really think it would work."

Remus smiled broadly at the now-scarlet young man. "Nevertheless, it was an impressive piece of quick thinking." He paused thoughtfully for a moment, remembering a similar talent for rapid improvisation and inventiveness in two smiling faces from the past incarnation of the Order of the Phoenix. "I knew your parents a long time ago," he added softly. "I know they would be very proud of you today."

Neville twitched awkwardly, never taking his eyes off the floor, but a hint of a sad smile touched the corners of his mouth. The looks of the faces of Harry, Ron and Hermione told Remus more eloquently than words that they were aware of the Longbottoms fate.

It was time for a shift in subject. A matter of some curiosity rose to the forefront of Remus' mind.

"Speaking of quick thinking," he said in a deliberately lighter tone. "I'd be intrigued to know how in Merlin's name an entire room full of children managed to escape the assault of a rampaging werewolf with no more than minor injuries. What exactly happened in the Great Hall before I arrived?

Harry shifted in his seat as he exchanged glances with his three friends. "Well, after you and the other teachers left, Snape ordered us all to sit down at our House tables and stay put," he said with a distinctive frown that strongly implied that he had not been pleased by the Head of Slytherin's actions. "We offered to help – us, the other DA members, the Prefects – to patrol the halls or check the grounds or anything, but he wouldn't have any of it. He just shouted at us to sit down and do as we were told and then turned his back on all of us and started chanting some complicated spell over the doors. We tried to speak to Hagrid – or to that _thing_ that pretended to be Hagrid – but he just walked away from us." He sighed. "I guess we should have known then that something was wrong but we thought he was just worried. But we couldn't stand to do nothing, so I got out the Marauder's Map so that I could check the grounds for Death Eaters."

Remus could not restrain his grin. "Great minds think alike it seems. I went upstairs to do the same." His eyes glinted. "In fact, there's a trick to the map that I will have to show you later that came in very useful. I'm sure James wouldn't mind if I gave you his password."

Harry grinned back at his father's old friend as Hermione took up the tale. "We were just looking over the map when this awful gasp rose up from the ends of the table near the doors," she explained anxiously. "When we looked over we saw Snape lying in a heap on the steps and Hagrid running down the centre of the aisle. For a moment, I think we all thought he was going for help or something. But then we realised that he was _shrinking_."

"It was _creepy_," Ron exclaimed with a shiver to his tone. "Every step he took he just got shorter and shorter and then his hair started to curl and his beard got sucked into his face. And this his eyes went all weird and _yellowy_."

"And then I realised it had to be Polyjuice potion," Hermione put in matter of factly. "Harry was already checking the map but there was so many names it was impossible to see who he really was. By now he had shrunk so much that all we could see was this figure wrapped up in that enormous coat of Hagrid's. It wasn't until he turned around that we realised he was that feral from the Hogsmeade weekend." She paused, an unmistakable shiver to her tone as she glanced awkwardly at her teacher. "But by then, he had already started to _change_."

"There were teeth," Neville injected tremulously. "_Lots_ of teeth. And fur all over the place. And his face went all _stretchy_."

Remus fought back a shudder at the memory of golden eyes and contorting features beneath the darkened trees. "I remember," he muttered softly. He was hardly aware that he had spoken until Ron's voice broke across his reverie.

"How do _you_ remember? Is there a mirror in the Shrieking Shack or something?"

From the hefty thud of impact and the accompanying yell of pain, Remus estimated that Hermione had smacked Ron across the back of the head with a fairly substantial degree of force.

He smiled wanly. "No," he said wearily. "I've seen Kane change before, although I only recently came to remember it. I witnessed his transformation about two minutes before he chased me down and bit me."

There was a lengthy silence.

Remus sighed as he stared down at his bed sheets absently. "Go on," he encouraged eventually. "I didn't mean to stop you."

Harry exchanged a long glance with Hermione before picking up the thread of their story. "Well, we knew we had to do something fast," he continued with a shrug. "After seeing you that night in third year…" He trailed off uncomfortably for a moment, fingering the sleeve of his robe as he avoided his teacher's understanding eyes. "Well, we knew how little time we'd got. We remembered after what you taught us that direct magic was no use; a couple of the prefects were firing stunners but they bounced straight off so I guess he was too much wolf by then for anything to work. Everyone was panicking like mad – half the school was chucking chairs through the windows and leaping outside and the other half were belting for the doors. But we knew that there just wasn't enough time for everyone to get away." He smiled suddenly. "And that's when Ron had a brilliant idea."

The freckled redhead, who had until that moment been preoccupied with tenderly rubbing the back of his head and shooting glares at the prim-looking Hermione, looked up in surprise at the sudden attention.

"Well, it wasn't _much_," he shrugged with almost exaggerated nonchalance. "I just saw that he was kind of caught up in that massive coat of Hagrid's and I thought if we could tangle him up in something just long enough it might give us time to get out. And then I remembered that those House banners hanging over the tables were made of some pretty heavy material…"

"It worked really well," Hermione interrupted with enthusiasm, ignoring Ron's reproachful look at the theft of his thunder. "And as soon as other people saw what we were doing, they joined in. By the time Kane had transformed, he was completely tangled up in every House banner in the Great Hall!"

"He was so _strong_ though," Harry let out a sigh. "He started ripping through them like they were wrapping paper or something. And since he was between us and the windows, we had no choice but to make for the door."

Hermione took over again. "By the time we got there, I think everyone who'd fled that way had realised that Snape had sealed the doors with some kind of spell. But it was too late to make a run for the windows – Kane was almost free. I knew he'd be more intelligent than a normal werewolf – after that business in Hogsmeade, I looked up _The Feral Werewolf: A Meeting of Minds_ by Rebekah Goldstein in the library and she says…"

"I didn't _care _how intelligent he was," Ron interrupted Hermione's flow before she could launch into a dissertation on the subject, much to Remus' secret relief. "He was big, hairy and looking _hungry_. I just wanted something thick and heavy between _me_ and _him_ but Crabbe and Goyle were too busy scraping at the doors and screaming for their mummies. That was when Ginny and Dean had the idea about using the House tables as a barricade and we all started levitating them quickly into place."

"Ginny wanted to come today," Harry added with a frown. "But she has Potions now and that greasy git Snape wouldn't let her out of it to join us." He carefully ignored the reproving look her received from Remus as his green eyes flared. "You'd think he'd be a little more grateful," he declared with sudden heat. "Considering that _you_ saved him from being _eaten _by Kane…"

"Harry." Remus' softly spoken intervention put a reluctant end to the young man's rant. "In case you've forgotten, Severus Snape does not take kindly to having his life saved by people he doesn't like. Especially when that person happens to have almost eaten him once themselves." Neville Longbottom's suddenly wide eyes reminded him that not everyone in the room had been privy to that long ago conversation. "The others can explain later, Neville," he added hurriedly. "Now isn't the time. But the point is, Harry, I don't expect any gratitude from Severus Snape. To be honest, I don't particularly want it. I think it would make us both uncomfortable."

"Yeah, but it's not _fair!_" Harry's outburst was filled with indignation. "He's such a miserable, ungrateful, prejudiced, nasty…"

Harry's words faltered and dried away at the slow, deliberate rhythmic tap of footsteps on stone as a shadow loomed over the secluded corner of the Hospital Wing and ushered in a chilling drop in temperature. Dark eyes glared down the length of a hooked nose.

Severus Snape, it seemed, was not especially impressed with Harry Potter's observations.

**Reviewer Responses**:

**Lucathia Rykatu** – I'm glad it wasn't just me! The article – both the original version I wrote and the far improved version written by my beta – was supposed to be Rita Skeeter's usual brand of excessively embellished fact so I'm glad that worked okay. Rita seems to be most dangerous when she has an undeniably true fact to twist around; that way her victims can't deny it's happened, only dispute her interpretation. I couldn't let Remus resign again but at the same time I couldn't see how he wouldn't try! This was my compromise. ;) I like to show Reynard's protective streak and beating up Rita Skeeter seemed a good place. That would be me if I ever crossed paths with a tabloid journalist and had a big stick…;) And see, I think he should be a little more reassured now. :)

**mj **– Hello and welcome aboard (when you get this far :) ) And thank you very much! I'm glad you liked the swansong though I apologise if I'm damaging your school-marks…;) Thank you very much for reviewing! :)

**Neoma** – Kudos has been passed onto my beta. My beta is pleased. ;) I think you may have to get in line on the Skeeter bashing front – plenty of the characters would like to take a swipe as well! ;) I actually intended only two or three wrap up chapters after the finale but I found I had so much to include and resolve that my intended content for chapter 32 turned into chapter 32-40! Remus/Tonks – I'll admit, whilst it is a ship I am fond of, I am also aware that many others aren't so keen so that was part of the reason, aside from time constraints, that I decided to leave them friends. That way, those who want to image them together can and those who prefer them as friends can leave them that way too! ;) Snow? Fun! We just have howling gales here at the moment!

**bookworm-jill** – I'll coax him out, don't worry. I have Cadburys Dairy Milk…:)

**CurlsofSerenity** – Quite. :/ But yes, I have read Hunting the Traitor (indeed it's on my favourites list :)). I discovered it somewhere in the midst of the evil finale shudders ;) I think I'll let Rita live. But I can't make any promises for whether the characters will be so lenient…;)

**Ruse123** – Thank you very much! I'm glad you like it! :)

**Howling Wolf 22** – Indeed it is the petition. Remus, bless him, is a popular chap. :)

**Jello** – Rita is fairly vile, isn't she? I reckon Hermione should have held her quill to ransom for more than a year! ;)

**wulfeyez** – Hello! You seem vaguely familiar…;) Glad you enjoyed the reread. :) If you still go to my live-journal, you'll know I'm still plugging away at the old novel so hopefully it won't be too much long before I can start touting it about. :)

**a happy bibliophile** - -quietly hides the matches…- ;) I hope FFN stays up too, it was a real pain last Saturday. And for a living? Well, I work in a college, enrolling students, but I harbour dreams of being an author. :)

**JennyJoy4** – Apologies for invoking your father's wraith! ;) And don't worry, as you can see Remus has plenty of sympathy and support from the kids. :)

Thank you all very much! The next update will be with you on Saturday. :)


	36. By Invitation Only

_36: By Invitation Only_

There was a moment of absolute silence.

The Potions Master regarded the little gathering with lip curled and eyes glinting, his face twisted into his trademark sneer as he drank in the horrified expressions on the four faces of his students. Slowly, pointedly, he raised an eyebrow.

Still he said nothing. The children happily followed his lead.

The silence deepened horrendously.

But something was wrong.

Remus stared for a moment at the form of his colleague, eyes drifting suspiciously along the slightly off-kilter lines of his face and the rather oddly styled dark robes he was clothed in, robes in fact that rather resembled....

_Of course_.

He dropped his gaze to fix upon a pair of slender ankles poking out from beneath the too short hem of the outfit.

Purple socks dotted with crescent moons and silver stars peeked back.

Remus folded his arms and smiled dryly. "Very funny Tonks," he said mildly. "But if you're going to make a habit of impersonating staid and serious men, I really think you need a change of hosiery. And not wearing what are clearly your Auror robes might be a good idea too."

A cheeky smile that looked bizarrely unnaturally for the dour Potions Master creased Snape's sallow features.

"Spoilsport," came the shockingly feminine voice that issued from the Head of Slytherin's lips. A moment later Snape's pallid complexion had melted away into the emerald green hair and heart shaped face of the grinning metamorphmagus, who folded her arms as she plonked herself down beside four hyperventilating teenagers. "But in all honesty, how could you possibly have expected me to resist?"

Remus gave her a slightly reproachful look. "Well, under the circumstances, Tonks, that was in slightly bad taste. Haven't we had enough impersonators in this castle for one week?"

"All right, all right," Tonks dismissed the criticism with an airy wave of her hand. "Honestly, did you forget to switch on your sense of humour this morning?"

"I sent it on sabbatical." Remus leaned back easily against the headboard. "It badly needed a break. But I think it's _them_ you need to convince."

He nodded his head in the direction of his visitors. Although Hermione's mouth was now twitching at the corners, both Ron and Harry were glaring at the new arrival, and Neville seemed to be struggling to get his breath back.

"Oh, that reminds me!" Tonks turned on the teenagers with a grin. "I saw Professor Dumbledore before I came in. He told me to tell you four not to be late for your next lesson. And the bell was just going when I came in."

Hermione leapt to her feet in a rush, her face filled with horror at the prospect of anything less than punctuality.

"We have to go!" she exclaimed, dragging a disgruntled looking Ron upright also – Harry and Neville managed to regain their footing unaided. "It was lovely to see you, Professor Lupin. I hope you'll be well enough to teach again soon!"

Remus smiled back at his students with sincere pleasure. "I do too. I've been spending far too much time in the Hospital Wing this term."

"Yeah, well, with that feral git locked up, it shouldn't be such a problem any more." Ron grinned as he gathered his bag and moved out in pursuit of Hermione. "See you later, Professor."

"I… I am glad you're okay," Neville ventured with a smile. "I do hope you feel better soon."

Remus met Neville's uncertain gaze firmly. "_Thank_ _you,_ Neville," he said, encasing the words with more than simple gratefulness over a platitude about his health. The boy's smile spread a little over his plump cheeks as he turned to follow his classmates. From the tones of voice and decisive gestures, Ron and Hermione appeared to be bickering about her earlier blow to Ron's head.

Harry however, still lingered, gathering up the petition carefully as he regarded his teacher thoughtfully.

"Are you _really_ okay?" he asked suddenly. "I mean, you were insisting you were fine in that lesson last week right up until the point you fell over."

Remus flushed slightly at the reminder as Tonks chuckled nearby. "I ache," he admittedly candidly. "The cuts on my stomach are very sore and I keep falling asleep at the drop of a hat. But Madame Pomfrey has things well in hand, don't worry. I'll be fine in a few days." At Harry's slightly sceptical raised eyebrow, Remus frowned. "_Honestly_," he insisted. "If I don't strain myself, I'll probably be back at work by next week."

James' son did not look hugely convinced – Remus wondered just how dreadful he must look to inspire so little confidence in his health – but he nodded quietly all the same and awkwardly shuffled his papery burden.

"I'd better get going," he said with a smile. "Lessons to go to, signatures to gather…"

Remus' brow crinkled slightly. "Harry, I told you I'm staying. I don't need any more convincing."

Harry grinned suddenly. "We didn't just do this to convince you to stay. We did it so that we can show it to anyone who's stupid enough to believe that Skeeter woman and nicely suck the wind out of their sails." The grin was tinged suddenly with wickedness. "You should have seen Hermione the day that article came out. I'm not sure some of the things she threatened to do to the lovely Rita are anatomically possible."

Remus shared the grin. "I'm afraid she'll have to get in line. My father has first dibs and he promised I could watch."

Tonks leaned forward, her smile evil. "Can I come too? I'll pay if I have to!"

Harry laughed. "We could sell tickets!"

Tonks' eyes lit up. "I'll bring bunting and provide the band!"

"That sounds like a plan." Remus absently brushed his hair out of his face with his fingers. "I'll tell you what – you find a venue and I'll talk to my dad. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to participate."

"I'll talk to Professor McGonagall about hiring the Quidditch pitch." Harry moved out past the end of the bed, his green eyes glinting with humour. "I'm sure she'll agree it's in a good cause. But I have to go now, or we'll be selling tickets to the Ron and Hermione grudge match." Indeed, distant bickering, gradually swelling in volume, was drifting from the corridor where Harry's friends were presumably waiting for him. He smiled at the last of his father's true friends for a moment. "Bye Professor Lupin."

Remus nodded. "Bye Harry."

With a final grin, the young man turned and hurried down the length of the Hospital Wing. A moment later, he vanished through the door and was gone.

Stretching slightly, Tonks lifted herself from her seat on the bed and dropped into the chair vacated by Harry. "I really like that plan, you know," she commented with a beatific grin. "We could sell little chocolate Skeeters especially for the occasion that wriggle like chocolate frogs when you bite their heads off." She made a gnashing gesture with her teeth and yanked her head sideways to mimic the required action. "Skeeter-baiting. It should be a sport. Fun for all the family."

Remus quietly rolled his eyes. "Are you done?" he asked dryly.

Tonks waggled her eyebrows. "Not nearly. My well of ideas on such matters is bottomless."

"I wasn't lying when I said you scare me."

"I'd have been heartbroken if you were." Tonks leaned back in her chair with a sigh. "But I didn't come here to plot violent death for idiot journalists or even for the pleasure of your banter, lovely company though you are. I have news on the Dawlish front."

Remus felt a knot of ice curl across his chest as his stomach sank. "Oh?"

Tonks' reassuring smile melted the ice in a moment. "You're in the clear," she said cheerfully. "When Dawlish arrived at the holding cells this morning, he discovered that some careless soul had left poor Bernhardt Oldstaff gagged and bound on the floor outside reception with his Dark Mark exposed and a bottle of Veritaserum sitting next to him. Can't think how that might have happened." She gazed innocently at the ceiling. "After all, it's not like I went round to his house last night doing my best Bellatrix Lestrange impression with a big, muscular and thoroughly well hooded Kingsley to keep me company. Not at _all_." She winked. "Oldstaff was quite happy to admit that he had been Kane's connection to You-Know-Who and that Kane refused the Mark. He also confessed that Kane had been sent after Harry. Even with this morning's lovely piece of venom by our darling Rita, Dawlish has been forced to drop his vendetta against you. You'll be invited in for a quiet interview with Kingsley some time in the next week or two, but interrogation is off the agenda. You're off the hook, mate."

Relief flooded through Remus in a torrent of warmth. Considering how badly his morning had started, the unexpected show of support from his pupils and now the revelation that the Ministry would not be pursuing charges against him had given it a definite upturn. In spite of Rita Skeeter's best efforts, he really wasn't having such a bad day.

He flashed Tonks a genuine smile of gratitude. "Thank you so much, you and Kingsley both. You really didn't have to go to that kind of trouble for me."

The Auror shrugged easily. "No problem, mate. If nothing else, it's one more Death Eater off the streets and that's always worth doing. Making Dawlish eat his prejudiced, ill-chosen suspicions was merely a bonus."

Remus laughed. "Well thank you all the same," he said graciously. "It's much appreciated and…"

His voice tailed off as he became aware of two limping figures, moving side by side and speaking urgently between themselves as they made their way up the length of the Hospital Wing towards him. Their conversation had an eerily familiar ring.

"So we cast the Impervious charm on the material and then I hold the brim of the hat." Rey's voice had an analytical quality that rang profound alarm bells in Remus' subconscious. "You can beat him into the hat with your wooden leg until he's just a pair of feet sticking out."

Alastor Moody's grin was vicious. "Aye. Then we take him back to your place and offer him up to whichever of your menagerie takes your fancy. Have you got any Red Caps in?"

Remus hurriedly intervened before the discussion grew any more graphic. "Dad, Alastor, please, _please_, _enough_. I've had far too many people in here espousing their violent tendencies for one day."

The dual looks of innocence of the faces of the grizzled Auror and the silver-haired Exterminator frightened Remus more than any frothing berserker ever could.

"Who else has been plotting violence?" Rey enquired curiously after a moment.

"Me and Harry," Tonks piped in as she rose and offered her seat to the older man before plonking herself back down on the bed beside Moody. "We were making plans for Rita Skeeter."

Settling back into his chair, Rey looked up sharply. "She's _mine_," he exclaimed with feeling, gesturing in the air with his cane. "I've marked her and everything. I have bagsies."

"We don't dispute that." The evil grin was back. "We were just planning to sell tickets to the event and do a bit of merchandising."

"Do you think you can accommodate a double header?"

Once more Remus stepped in before the situation grew out of hand. "Dad, what's going on?" he asked wearily. "Who else are you planning to put on the bill and why?"

Rey's expression darkened grimly, abruptly serious as he exchanged a look with Moody. "Alastor has discovered who Miss Skeeter's _reliable source_ is," he said darkly, his voice shimmering with bitterness and anger. "Do you remember me telling you about Jasper Castleton?"

A memory lingered, a vague flash of a face and his father's voice filled with much the same emotions as now as he described the night that had changed his son's life forever. "Wasn't he the gentleman who offered to put me down for you on the night I was bitten?" he asked softly.

Tonks' soft gasp reminded him that he would have to be careful about how much detail to go in to regarding that night – not everyone present was privy to its secrets.

Moody's face was filled with disdain. "That's him. He works in Magical Law Enforcement now, a desk job, nice and safe. Well, he's our leak. He slipped the bloody Skeeter woman a copy of Kane's case file, which of course was filled with details about his attack on you; including that picture they plastered all over the front page. Recognised that straight off, of course – Hell's teeth, I took that shot myself on the condition that it never see the light of day beyond the case notes. So I knew that the leak had to be in the Ministry and when I spoke to Shacklebolt first thing, he told me that the only person apart from Dawlish and himself who'd been near that information was Castleton. He checked the file out yesterday, saying he was supposed to be working on the case for Madam Bones so Shacklebolt had a word with her about it. Of course she knew nothing about any case and found out that one of his colleagues had seen Castleton in the Leaky Cauldron with Skeeter the day before so that's his career up the spout and deservedly so. But Rey and I thought we'd make a contingency plan of punishment. Madam Bones isn't known for going easy but all the same…"

"I get the idea." Remus sighed wearily. He shot an uncertain glance at Tonks. "Do you know if he mentioned…" He left the sentence hanging pointedly but it was clear that both men had taken his meaning. Moody shook his head.

"I kept that out of the file. And he obviously valued his life enough not to mention it without proof to back himself up."

The old Auror noted Tonks' curious glance and caught her eye firmly. "Don't ask, lass," he said softly. "Do us all a favour, all right?"

Although her eyes were bursting with curiosity, Tonks nodded her agreement. Remus sealed her silence with a grateful smile. The Auror smiled back briefly before turning to Alastor.

"So, Mad-Eye," she said conversationally. "I thought you were going to Kane's hearing for the verdict today."

Remus felt himself tense; out of the corner of his eye, he saw that his father's shoulders were equally rigid. Moody's electric blue eye rolled.

"I _was_," he replied softly. "But it's over now."

Tonks stared. "Already? But that's only a couple of hours! Blimey, I thought they'd need more time than that to make their minds up. They usually dither like a pack of old women."

Moody shrugged casually, although his jaw was tense. "Didn't take 'em long. They brought in Oldstaff just to confirm the Death Eater connection and then declared Kane guilty. With so much rock-solid proof gathered against him over the years, the verdict was never in doubt. It was just the sentence that took them an hour or so to debate."

"What did they decide?" As Remus spoke, it seemed to him as though his voice belonged to someone else.

Alastor regarded him solemnly. "The Dementor's Kiss," he said softly. "They've condemned him to the Kiss. First time they've ever sentenced for a werewolf to lose his soul, let alone a feral."

Tonks snorted. "Are they sure he's _got _one?"

Moody's wild eye shifted in her direction, but he gave no outward response to her words. "It'll be a closed execution," he added grimly. "Too many gawpers otherwise. Invitation only."

"Invitation?" There was an odd note to his father's tone – absently, Remus reached and reassuringly touched his hand. "What kind of people do they invite? What kind of people would _want_ to be invited?"

Moody sighed. "For someone like Kane? They'll be a few politicians trying to make themselves look good. Aurors involved in the case. A couple of Press maybe." He hesitated slightly. "And the families of any victims. So you two can probably expect an owl in the near future."

Remus could tell instantly from the look on his father's face that Reynard Lupin would not be accepting any invitations. A combination of his lingering guilt over Abel Isaacs and his disdain for punishment as a public spectacle would certainly keep him at home.

But Moody's gaze was not directed at his old friend. He was staring uncertainly at Remus.

"There's something more," he said softly. He cleared his throat gruffly as his mismatched eyes lifted to find Remus' face. "Lad, I doubt you'll want to hear this, but they'll probably be contacting you about it anyway so I'd rather it came from me. When a prisoner is condemned to the Kiss, they are offered the chance to ask one person down to see them before it happens." He braced his shoulders ominously as he paused. Remus felt a cold, horrible suspicion take hold in his stomach.

A moment later, the old Auror met his eyes and his worst fear was confirmed.

"Remus, I'm sorry. But Abraham Kane has asked for you."

"_What?_" Rey's shocked exclamation made a fine accompaniment to the explosion of stunned astonishment running rampant through his son's mind. "He _can't _be _serious!_"

Moody looked distinctly uncomfortable. "He's serious. Made the request officially as soon as the hearing was over. The bloody feral tossed off some snide remark about wanting to _apologise_."

"Finish what he started, more like it!" Tonks declared hotly. "He must know that any conversations will be monitored. He probably wants to attempt the frame-up job he didn't manage before by trying to imply Remus was in on it!"

Moody shook his head. "Shacklebolt already volunteered for escort and eavesdropping duty if the lad accepts the offer; we can't risk Kane spilling anything he's been told about the Order to a stranger. So if it comes to it, at least the listener will be kindly inclined." He tapped his wooden leg absently against the floor in a staccato rhythm. "I don't know what he's playing at," he confessed honestly. "I only know that I'm pretty bloody sure he's not sorry."

Remus could feel his head spinning as conflicting emotions played havoc in his mind. Why would Kane want to see _him_, ask to see him so emphatically? True, a part of him had wanted a chance like this, had secretly longed for some manner of human resolution outside of the wolfish battle of the last full moon, but this? He had expected any meeting would be on his own terms, planned and arranged when he was ready, _if _he was ever ready at all. But to have the matter forced on him by Kane himself…

He was up to something. He had to be.

But was that a good enough reason to refuse?

If he said no, people like Dawlish would wonder; what was the werewolf avoiding? What was he trying to hide? What didn't he want to be heard? And if he said yes, he would open himself up to whatever accusations Kane cared to hurl for the benefit of their unseen audience. If Kane did try to incriminate him, Kingsley or not, there would have to be an investigation. And if their family connection were to be uncovered, if Castleton spoke out regarding his feral history…

It was a no win situation. Which was probably what Kane had planned all along. A little chaos to remember him by.

Wondering was not the same as accusing. People wondered about him already. It was not the same as being offered some kind of twisted proof from the mouth of a feral lunatic.

He would do better not to go.

But then, it would never be settled. The fight would be the last moment of their tortuous shared history.

It didn't seem enough. It didn't seem like _closure_.

But was closure worth the risk?

He realised abruptly that Moody, Tonks and his father were all staring at his silence with obvious concern. He swallowed hard.

"Is this visit compulsory?" he asked softly. "Or am I allowed to decline?"

"It's up to you," Moody reassured him quickly. "You're free to say no if you want to. It'd probably be for the best if you did."

Remus nodded absently. "I need to think about it."

Reynard bit his lip, clearly not happy that he had even seen fit to consider the matter, his protective streak in regards to his only son clearly gleaming in his eyes. But Remus could see a hint of conflict too. His father wanted this matter closed as much as he did, through his son if not through himself. But he did not seem to believe the risk was worth the conclusion. Tonks and Moody were both watching him with the quiet tolerance of those who believed that a friend had gone out of his mind.

"Well that's up to you," Moody said with studied indifference as he hauled himself upright awkwardly. "I'd best be off. Nice seeing you, Rey. It's been too long."

Reynard nodded with a sincere smile. "Thank you Alastor. For everything."

The old Auror gave a gruff smile. "No need to thank me," he muttered as he turned and clomped away. "All in a day's work."

With a flash of a smile and a shrug, Tonks rose also. "I'd best be on my way too," she said cheerfully. "Work and all." She met Remus' eyes and prodded him on the forehead with her fingertip. "_You_ I will see on Tuesday in Hogsmeade. No excuses."

"If you insist," Remus smiled back. "The Three Broomsticks, 6pm."

Tonks wrinkled her nose. "Good boy. See you soon!"

With a final grin, she turned and hurried away down the Hospital Wing, a bedpan and two potion bottles tumbling in her wake. Swerving away at the last moment, she managed to avoid the cabinet, but her wave of triumph was rather marred as she tumbled backwards over an empty bed and crashed to the ground. Smiling rather ruefully she picked herself up and, with a slightly more subdued salute, she vanished after Alastor.

There was a moment of silence. Rey looked at Remus. Remus looked at Rey.

"Dad," Remus ventured softly but his father's squeeze of his hand cut him off.

"It's up to you Remus," he said gently. "Whatever you decide is fine by me."

Remus nodded silently.

Neither man spoke for some time.

**Reviewer Responses**:

**Kireina1** – See, you didn't have to take Snape's side because it wasn't really him! :)

**Hiss** – No Lupin and Snape yet, I'm afraid. But don't worry, it _is_ coming. :)

**bookworm-jill** - -pumps Remus with Cadburys just in case- ;)

**CurlsofSerenity** – As you can see, many characters have plans for Rita ;) And I'm not sure those prefects ever had that particular lesson, and none of their other teachers have been up to much on teaching them so…;)

**The Thief Kuronue** – Snape wasn't out of class at all. That was my sneaky clue to imply it wasn't him! ;) I felt Ron and Neville deserved a little glory – it does seem to be Hermione and Harry more often than not. :) Good luck with the project! :)

**TwizzlerChick106** – I'm glad you like the explanations. :) And Reynard would very much like to deal with Rita, as you can see! :)

**Jello **– Harry is safe, as you can see. And sorry about the Snape-Lupin delay but that confrontation is coming! ;)

**Lucathia Rykatu** – The signatures were good indeed and a definite confidence boost for Remus so yes, good indeed! :) And you see, not so bad since it wasn't really Snape. ;)

**superpan **– I'm sure given the photo in OotP that Remus must have known the Longbottoms fairly well so I liked the idea of his sharing that with Neville. :)

**Neoma **– Harry is safe from Snape, as you can see. ;) I'm glad my approach to Lupin and Tonks meets your approval! :) As you can see, the Skeeter-bashing is reserved but I'm sure you can get a ticket to watch! Though I'm afraid that was her sole cameo in this fic. The rain in the UK – there was very bad flooding in the north of England and Scotland, alas, but at least it seems to have passed now.

**a happy bibliophile** – Umm…turn into Tonks? ;) Yes, I have ended up splitting a lot of chapters (I wanted a consistent-ish chapter length). This fic was twelve chapters when I planned it! ;) As you can see, Remus does have to decide whether or not he wants to see Kane again before this wraps up… If I do the sequel, there will be a duel for Lupin but not Snape as far as I know. ;) And…and…_you don't know what Cadbury's Dairy Milk is_????? You poor, deprived soul, how have you lived this long? Cadburys is Britain's major chocolate producer (I live near their factory... _Mmmmm_...) and Dairy Milk is their ordinary milk chocolate – although there is nothing _ordinary_ about it. I have been told by poor, deprived American friends brought into the wonderful Cadbury experience that it is the nicest thing they have ever tasted! ;)

**Howling Wolf 22** – Luckily, it wasn't Snape…;)

**Unforgettable** – It's not as bad as Harry thought…:)

**Dortha** – Thank you! Though I hope the truth about it hasn't changed your opinion! :)

The next part will be along next Wednesday. :)


	37. In From the Cold

_37: In From The Cold_

It was _freezing_.

Pulling his scarf tighter around his neck, Remus hunched down deeper into the protective but ineffectual warmth of his robes and cautiously quickened his pace. Care was required as icy patches glinted on the cobblestones ahead, frost lightened the eaves of Hogsmeade and occasional short but bitter flurries of snow dashed at his skin and spun, laughing, into the rays of light that slanted from the windows around. Glancing at the golden glows of distant fires and warm occupants, Remus couldn't help but feel a slight gleam of jealousy for their snugness.

It was only the end of _November_, for pity's sake. There was no way that it was allowed to be this cold without being officially _winter_.

Wistful images of the glowing fire in his chambers and the cheerful warmth of dinner in the Great Hall taunted him with tantalising glee.

_What am I doing out here?_

Keeping a promise.

Remus sighed. A drink with Tonks. Even given the way the idea had been thrust upon him, it really hadn't seemed such a bad thing.

Until of course the universe had decided to make that particular Tuesday one of the coldest nights of the year.

He was still officially convalescent, at least if Poppy's shrill protests when she'd caught him crossing the entrance hall to head outside were anything to go by. Perhaps he should have contacted Tonks and delayed the drink for another night.

An image of the rainbow-haired Auror stared sternly at him from the depths of his minds eye. Somehow he suspected Tonks would not have taken "maybe another time" for an answer. She seemed grimly determined to cheer him up.

However miserable it made him.

Remus sighed. That wasn't fair, not really. It was a nice idea. He could hardly blame Tonks for the weather and his own still precarious health.

It had been Saturday, after almost exactly a week in bed, before Poppy Pomfrey had been satisfied enough with his progress to release him from the Hospital Wing back to his own chambers. Remus suspected that the Matron would have preferred to have kept him under her wing yet longer but for the arrival of Draco Malfoy on Friday afternoon, his hair layered with bright orange and burgundy streaks as it stuck sharply upright, his skin covered in purple boils and putrid green pustules and with daffodils sprouting rather repulsively from his nostrils. The Slytherin Prefect had moaned so loudly and constantly from his bed about bloody Gryffindors, what his mother would say when she heard and the continued ineffectiveness of Poppy's mostly futile attempts to undo the hexes, that rest and sleep had soon become a mere forgotten dream. The evil tinged smiles of Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny when they had dropped by after dinner, purportedly to visit their professor had made Remus highly suspicious, especially when Ron and Harry started making loud comments about the strange afflictions that would – or so they'd read – befall certain persons who continually tattled on their teachers to the press. But given that he was technically still off duty on sick leave, Remus had chosen not to pursue the matter in a professional capacity and merely commented casually that he'd observed in the past that pink had always clashed nicely with Slytherin green when James and Sirius had conducted a similar line of experiments.

It was a relief therefore on Saturday to be freed from the grumblings of moaning Malfoys and allowed back into the privacy of his own rooms. But even then, his freedom was a mere conditional release; Poppy had firmly imposed the sanction that for at least three days, he should not attempt anything that even remotely resembled work. Remus had considered protest, but then he had been fixed with the sharp eyebrows and piercing stare that had brooked no disobedience from generations of sickly Hogwarts schoolchildren and had nodded his meek consent and retreated to bed.

His father had found the whole business highly amusing.

With his son on the mend and safely settled back into his chambers, Reynard had chosen to take his leave on Saturday evening; the shrill note that had arrived by owl from Mrs Wenn that morning, plaintively inquiring how soon he was planning to return to Winter Hollow had only caused him to delay his departure by half a day. But after a hearty Hogwarts supper, father and son had spent a moment carefully arranging for a time and place for the much-proposed Sunday dinner to occur. Recent events had taught both of the Lupin men the value of their family ties. Sunday dinners would most certainly be a more regular fixture in the future.

After his father had departed to extricate poor Mrs Wenn from whatever Lanark and menagerie shaped woes might have assailed her in his absence, Remus had settled quietly into a restful Sunday and Monday. On orders from Poppy, most of the weekend had indeed been spent resting in bed. Most of the time he had simply read, although in a tiny rebellion, he'd risked a bit of marking smuggled in to him by his willing accomplice Minerva McGonagall. He couldn't escape the vague sense of irony that his exciting, daring act of resistance to over-fussy Matrons everywhere consisted of sneakily doing the dullest part of his own job. He somehow suspected Minerva was quietly making fun of him.

He'd needed the distraction though. Anything to hold back the dizzy whirl of his thoughts.

For any moment of rest, of lost concentration over his period of convalescence had brought with it a flood of worrisome thinking. Although the petition had raised his spirits considerably, he was still concerned about the reaction of his pupils to seeing their werewolf teacher again now they fully understood the truth of what he was. In spite of Dumbledore's reassurances, he continued to dread the possibility of a public outcry regarding the Daily Prophet article and the way he was likely to be treated outside of Hogwarts because of it. He felt the slowness of his recovery and feared that he would never return to the state of mild ill health that had become the best he could expect. He worried about his father and the brave face behind which he hid both his bitterness and his guilt towards his condemned nephew. And he thought about the letter.

It had come on Friday night, hand delivered by Kingsley Shacklebolt. One envelope, containing two invitations from the Ministry.

Remus had yet to open it.

A decision on the matter of an audience with Kane was no closer that it had been before. Remus simply didn't want to think about it. He'd put the envelope away for the time being and forced his thoughts elsewhere.

Tuesday had dawned with bitter coldness, the clear skies and persistent frost of morning giving way to scudding, board-rag clouds bloated with snow that swept out of the mountains with the coming of darkness. Feeling distinctly improved and with private hopes that perhaps by Wednesday morning he would be fit to resume classes, Remus had decided that he would indeed keep his Three Broomsticks appointment in spite of the chilling weather. Being caught and thoroughly chastised by Poppy had been rather embarrassing, especially in light of the passing waves of snickering schoolchildren, highly amused it seemed at the sight of one of their teachers on the receiving end, but nonetheless Remus had determinedly sallied forth through the snow flurries and the ice along the road to Hogsmeade, wrapped up in heavy layers, and feeling more and more fragile with every cautious step and icy lungful of air.

He was not, perhaps, as improved as he'd thought.

Hogsmeade was healing rather better. The damaged streets reported by Tonks and his father had been seamlessly repaired, the houses fixed, the visible scars of the Death Eater attack carefully and almost completely wiped away to leave the village much unchanged from previous memory. But as Remus knew too well, it was the scars unseen that left the deepest marks. The signs of the fight might have been erased, but its effects would continue to linger.

A warm glow and bubble of noise beckoned from beneath a creaking sign a few yards ahead. At last. The Three Broomsticks.

Carefully sidestepping a patch of ice that glinted by the gleaming light that emanated from his destination, Remus hurriedly pushed back the door and almost tumbled backwards as he was assailed by the fireball blast of heat and light and sound that washed across his half-frozen form from within. Catching his breath sharply, he loosened his scarf and, pulling off his gloves, moved hurriedly and with some relief inside.

Glorious warmth enfolded him from every direction, roaring fires that flared suddenly emerald, chattering figures with warm butterbeer and Madam Rosmerta bustling as always behind the bar. The pub was quieter than one had come to expect of the Three Broomsticks, but given both the cold weather and the state of mourning under which the village still quite reasonably lingered, this was perhaps not too great a surprise.

Much to his relief, almost nobody took much note of his entrance. Shrouded in blissful anonymity, Remus unwound his scarf almost completely, leaving only a fold in place to conceal the scars on his neck and made his way on cold and shaky legs in the direction of the bar and the glorious relief of a seat. He had barely hauled himself onto a stool, allowing his cold-stung cheeks to drop into the soothing cloak of his palms as he rested his elbows on the counter, when he was startled from his moment of rest by a loud hail and a friendly slap against his shoulder.

"Wotcher Remus!"

Tonks grinned as she leapt with enviable and most unexpected agility onto the neighbouring stool, brushing ashy remnants of her floo journey from her robes and her forest-green spiky hair. He grin wavered as she caught a glimpse of the cold-forced flush of her companion's cheeks and the hint of frost that lingered in his hair.

"Blimey," she said, her eyes raking over the depths of clothes in which Remus had shrouded himself before darting towards the window. "Is it cold out?"

Remus chose not to dignify the question with a response. He simply glared.

Tonks remained thoroughly unfazed. "I'll take that as a yes, shall I?" she declared with alarming cheer. "Hey Rosmerta! A couple of butterbeers over here when you've got a moment!" She beamed at him heartily. "Never mind, Remus! We'll soon get you warmed up."

Remus tried to smile but it was a poor attempt. As the warmth of the room seeped into his bones and stole away the numbness of the cold, he found himself alarmingly shaky. His limbs felt heavy and tired, shaking and shivering with weariness instead of cold, tight tension sent whispers of pain across his forehead and the bridge of his nose, and a pervasive exhaustion had settled over his chest, his lungs sore and tender, his heart a stony weight. The fresh scar tissue across his stomach and leg seemed to tug tenderly whenever he shifted in his seat.

Definitely not as improved as he'd thought. Bed rest was a deceptive beast.

Damn Poppy for being right.

A foaming butterbeer plonked down on the counter in front of him. A heart-shaped face peered close, as concerned eyes raked over his now ice-pale pallor and trembling fingers.

"Remus, are you all right?" Tonks asked, her tone abruptly softening into concern as she rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. "No offence, but you look awful."

"I'm fine, really." The declaration would probably have carried more weight if Remus could have found the requisite energy to raise his head from his hands. "I just need to catch my breath."

"I think it's winning the race." The hand tightened sympathetically. "I'm so sorry, mate, I should have thought! Making you walk all that way when you're still recovering." She sighed. "It's so easy to forget that you can't floo in or out of Hogwarts or apparate from the grounds."

Remus shook his head slightly, his face still buried. He still felt too tired to lift it. "I wouldn't have apparated anyway," he admitted hoarsely, his voice slightly muffled. "I'm in no mood for a splinch. Few enough parts of my body are working properly at the moment without leaving half of them behind."

Abruptly he felt his left hand being peeled away, its fingers wrapped securely around the warm handle of the butterbeer mug. A bar of Honeydukes chocolate thunked down on the counter next to it.

"Drink up," Tonks ordered with mock briskness. "Butterbeer cures most things and chocolate will see to the rest. And don't worry about walking back – when you're ready to go, I'll floo back to my place, grab my broom and give you a lift back by air. Okay?"

Too tired to argue, Remus wearily nodded. With a sigh, he lifted the foaming and admittedly tempting tankard and raised it to his lips.

There was no denying that he did feel better for it. The cosy warmth of the drink seeped down into his tired body, flushing a hint of colour back into his cheeks and furnishing him with the energy to at least sit upright once more. Draining the last dregs of the tankard, he shot his Auror companion a more genuine smile.

"Thanks," he said sincerely. "I do feel better for that."

She smiled back. "See? Told you so." Hailing Rosmerta once more, she indicated for a refill before turning back to her companion with over exaggerated Poppy-like sternness. "Now eat your chocolate," she ordered, tapping the counter top firmly. "Dr Tonks knows what's best."

Remus grinned with false meekness as he accepted his second butterbeer from the Three Broomsticks landlady and lifted the Honeydukes best obediently. "Yes, ma'am."

Rosmerta lingered a moment, smiling at the pair of them. "It's nice to see you again, Remus," she said with genuine sincerity. "From what I've been told, we have you to thank for Professor Dumbledore's prompt arrival after the Death Eaters attacked."

Remus gave an awkward smile. "It was more luck than judgement really," he confessed. "But yes, I did raise the alarm. I just wish I could have done more."

Rosmerta's smile wavered slightly. "I don't think it would have made any difference," she said softly. "But from what I've heard, you more than did your bit up at the castle, looking after the children. Werewolf feuds indeed!" She snorted. "Honestly, that Rita Skeeter. Hagrid's been telling anyone who'll listen that her report is an inaccurate pile of dragon dung and anyone who knows you says the same. Ridiculous!"

Remus smiled wanly. "I appreciate the sentiment, Rosmerta," he said with a sigh. "But it's the people who don't know me I worry about…"

"Oh Remus, for goodness sake!" Tonks intervened abruptly. "Why do you always assume people are going to turn on you because of what you are?" She grinned wickedly. "Did it not occur to you that maybe they just don't like you?"

Remus furnished his companion with a long, slow look. "Thanks," he remarked dryly. "Watch my self esteem shoot through the roof."

"All part of the service." Tonks sat back with an expression of deliberate smugness.

"Service? What service?" Remus rested his elbow on the bar as he cupped his chin with one hand and took another swig of butterbeer.

Tonks grabbed her own tankard and matched him. "Why the patented Tonks The Human Pepper-Up Service of course. Guaranteed to improve the mood of even the most committed stoic misery of a professor."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "I want my money back."

"No refunds." Tonks swiped a square of chocolate with a cheeky grin. "It's in the contract."

"I demand a copy of this contract." Remus downed the bottom of his second tankard with a gulp. "I want to see the fine print before I get in too deep."

"It's a verbal contract."

"Then get me a pensieve."

Tonks eyed him for a moment, clearly weighing her options. "Would you accept a written apology?" she inquired hopefully.

"Nope." Remus fought desperately not to grin as he stared at her with casual indifference. "I want a full refund. In chocolate."

Tonks gestured indignantly at the open wrapper on the counter. "I already gave you chocolate!"

Remus lifted a broken chunk, examining it with apparent thoughtfulness. "This is medicinal. Refund chocolate is for pleasure."

"Tell you what," There was a sudden gleam in Tonks' eyes that was alarmingly Sirius-like. "I'll arm-wrestle you for it."

Remus blinked. Of all possible responses, he had not expected that one.

"Sorry?"

Tonks was grinning manically. "Arm-wrestle!" She plonked her elbow down on the counter and wriggled her fingers madly. "The winner gets chocolate!"

Remus sat up carefully. "Just how much did you have to drink before you came?"

Tonks deigned him with a superior stare. "I will have you know that I am high on nothing but life. Now are you in or not?"

Remus eyed the frantic fingers uncertainly. "I don't think this is a good idea."

Tonks waggled her eyebrows. "Scared, are you?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "Not exactly. But it's hardly a fair competition, Tonks."

The Auror grinned. "I know, you poor thing. I'll give you a 5 degree start."

"In my weakened state?" It was Remus' turn to grin. "It should be 15 at least. For an Auror to pick on an invalid like me; you should be ashamed of yourself. Ministry brutality at its worst."

"Spoilsport." Tonks let her hand drop as a genuine chuckle crossed her lips. "I would have won."

Remus laughed outright. "I have no doubt."

The gleam revived. "How about something smaller scale?" She extended her right hand, thumb raised. "Thumb war?"

"Oh good grief." Remus shook his head with a smile. "How old are we?"

"Hopefully not old enough to know better." She laughed and poked him sharply in the arm. "Come on! Where's the harm?"

Alarmingly, Remus could not think of a reasonable argument. With an exaggerated sigh, he extended his hand and allowed Tonks to grasp his fingers in the traditional thumb war posture.

With an expression of deliberate over-concentration, Tonks hunched forward and braced herself. Remus on the other hand, remained upright on his stool, desperately trying not to laugh as his companion performed a series of exaggerated thumb exercises.

"Ready?" she asked, apparently when he had decided her thumb was suitably flexed. Remus nodded his consent. "Then three, two, one… GO!"

It should have been no contest. Remus of course had larger hands, a longer thumb and a far superior reach. There was however a factor he had not accounted for.

Tonks' thumb was changing lengths.

A protest seemed in order. "You're morphing! That's unfair!"

Tonks was grimacing with mock concentration as the thumb wrestle intensified. "You…" she panted. "Have a natural advantage! I'm evening the odds!"

"It gets longer when you attack!"

"I thought you didn't care anyway!"

"And then you shrink it back when I get close! That's cheating!"

Tonks grinned as their joined hands twisted with the intensity of battle. "You can't cheat if there's no rules, Lupin!"

No rules? Well fine, if that was the way she wanted to play it… He could do no rules.

With an expression of uncharacteristic wickedness, Remus lunged forward with his free hand and tickled her under the armpit.

The effect was suitably dramatic.

Shocked, off balance and with her concentration broken, Nymphadora Tonks squealed, rocked and then tumbled sharply backwards off her stool.

Belatedly, Remus tried to catch her, but it was far too late. Plunging over in a wild flail of limbs, Tonks crashed into the drinker behind her and flung both herself and her unfortunate neighbour to the ground.

Sudden guilt washed over Remus in a rush, sweeping away the warm glow of silliness that had engulfed him. He leapt to his feet at once, grasping the hand of a slightly dazed looking Tonks as he helped her gently upright and set her down on her hurriedly righted stool, his lips half-open with words of apology. Her glare however sharply cut him off.

"You apologise to me, Lupin, and I'll thump you. I mean it!" She grinned slightly. "I will not have you being sorry for showing daring and innovation in thumb warfare."

Remus raised his hands with a small smile. "All right, no apology. But I do forfeit the fight. The chocolate is yours."

Tonks appeared on the verge of protest but Remus had already turned to aid the unfortunate drinker caught up in their display of mutual daftness. The man however had already come to his feet, grabbing at the drink he had fortunately left safe on the bar as he turned.

He was a badly shaven man, scruffy and wild haired, with beady eyes that squinted uncertainly as they fixed upon Remus' deferent approach. The glass of firewhiskey was grasped in one hand, and the noxious odour that surrounded him implied that it was unlikely to have been his first.

He blinked, one eye twitching slightly as he wove a little on the spot. His eyes narrowed.

"'Ere! You're 'im, ain'cha?" The boorish voice echoed loudly across the rafters of the Three Broomsticks. "Ain'cho 'im?"

_Oh no._ Ignoring the chill of apprehension that fluttered though his stomach, Remus nonetheless maintained a polite demeanour as the newcomer swayed drunkenly on the spot. Beside him, Tonks had tensed.

"Sir, are you feeling all right?" he inquired carefully, with a slight frown. "Perhaps if you sat down…"

"I don't wanna sit down!" The man's voice loudened by several degrees – all around the Three Broomsticks, heads began to turn. "Makes me an easy target, don't it? Cos' I know who you are, see! I read the papers! You're 'im! You're that loony _werewolf _teacher from up at the school!"

A deathly silence fell across the Three Broomsticks.

Rosmerta's expression was steely and cold. "That's enough, Fergus," she ordered, her voice low but filled with the kind of authority that only a landlady on the verge of a chuck out could muster. But Fergus, it seemed, was well beyond stopping. He rocked in a small circle, waving his finger as he sought to focus himself before launching abruptly back into his diatribe.

"I know your game!" he roared, hurling flecks of spittle across a wide radius. "You're on the wossit…on the prowl, ain'cha? Checking out who looks good chomping when the next mull foon comes round!" He stabbed the air with an emphatic finger. "Now they locked up your blood food…bud fuel…blood wossit fella, you gotta look elsewhere for your fix! Well, not round 'ere, says I! Not while Fergus McGinty still stands an'…."

The finger wobbled. The eyes crossed and slowly glazed over. Straight-backed as a plank of wood and emphatic as though pole-axed, Fergus McGinty teetered and toppled backwards on his heels to lie giggling and soaked in firewhiskey as he stared at the ceiling, Remus apparently forgotten. A moment later, he began to snore.

The silence deepened. The stares increased.

And then, with her eyebrows raised, Madam Rosmerta leaned forward and peered down at her erstwhile customer over the counter.

"When he wakes up," she said matter-of-factly. "He'll be barred."

**A/N**: I did not originally intend to include the drink with Tonks as more than a reported speech incident. But my beta reckoned after hyping it up, to gloss over it would be a let down to the audience. So I sat down to write a quick scene of it and ended up with two chapters. :)

**Reviewer Responses**:

**bookworm-jill** – That's probably for the best. He needs a bit of a rest…;)

**a happy bibliophile** – Cadbury's Dairy Milk, as far as I know, is sold in America, but not frequently. I have a friend in Florida who knows a shop that sells it, but I think you have to hunt to find them. The packets are deep purple in colour if you go looking. ;) Good like with your exams! :)

**Howling Wolf 22** – Tickets can be bought from your nearest outlet of Flourish and Blotts. All manner of pelting vegetable are encouraged….;) And nope, Kane isn't one to let things lie….

**Jello** – Rita and Castleton do need a pummelling don't they? ;) And nope, Kane is not likely to be out picking baskets of flowers any time soon…;)

**Lucathia Rykatu** – I just couldn't resist the idea of Tonks-as-Snape, though the kids weren't as impressed! ;) Remus had a lot of thinking to do about Kane's offer….

**TwizzlerChick106 **– Snape's reaction will be along, just not for a chapter or two. It wasn't the right moment. The meeting depends on what Remus decides…

**JennyJoy4** – Remus has to think very carefully about whether he wants to see Kane. After all, as his friends have pointed out, it's unlikely to be out of penetance…

**aurelie1 **– It'll be a chapter or two until Remus makes his mind up. Well, it is a big decision…;) I would like to do a sequel but at the moment time is a bit of an issue –sigh- Cadburys is wonderful. :) And thank you very much! :)

**The Thief Kuronue** – Glad your exams are done! And here is the next chapter…:)

**CurlsofSerenity** – It is a tough decision for him, bless his heart. And that course sounds most beneficial…;)

**superpan** – I do like Rey and Moody. Grumpy old men are fun…:)

**Fuzzy-snickers** – For when you get this far, I'm glad you've liked it and I hope that you have continued to like it throughout! Thank you for reviewing! :)

Thank you all very much for reviewing and the next chapter will be along on Saturday. :)


	38. Hiding

_38: Hiding_

But Rosmerta's words were utterly lost on Remus. All he knew, all he could feel, was the relentless, accusing glare of eyes.

Nobody spoke. Nobody said a word. They didn't need to. Their eyes said it all.

The light-hearted fun of a moment before had been sucked into oblivion and left only the cold and dark behind. Whatever Rosmerta said, with his drunken exposure by Fergus, he was no longer welcome here.

He had to go.

Pulling his scarf more tightly around his neck, Remus reached for the gloves he had left on the bar. But before he could move more than a step, a hand clamped instantly around his wrist. The dark eyes of Tonks stared up at him with a mixture of confusion and accusation.

"Where do you think you're going?" she inquired softly.

He was being watched. Eyes everywhere, whispers in the shadows. They were waiting for him to leave. The weight of their distrust almost buckled him.

Hurriedly, anxiously Remus dropped back into his seat and leaned closer to his companion. It was just for a moment. Just so he could explain.

"I can't stay here, Tonks," he murmured, his eyes pleading for his wrist's release. "Not after that…"

The Auror cocked her head thoughtfully. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't Fergus the one that just got barred?"

Remus closed his eyes. "Tonks…"

"I'm not going to let you." The metamorphmagus's voice was brusque, but there was an unmistakable note of anxiety buried deep inside. "I'm not going to let you run away and hide, Remus Lupin. You're always doing that and you have to stop. You're not the problem here and you've every right to drink and mess about with a friend in peace. If they don't like it, sod the lot of them."

Remus sighed, fingering his scarf uncertainly. "It's really not that simple…"

"Why is it not?" Remus opened his eyes once more to find Tonks' stare burying itself into his own. "You'll take Dumbledore's word for it but not mine? Remus, how are you supposed to show people how wrong they are if you run off and hide every time some idiot decides to take a pop at you?"

Tearing his eyes away from her gaze, Remus stared absently down at the counter. "Tonks, perhaps that might have been possible before," he said, his voice laced with soft bitterness and deep regret. "But Abraham Kane killed a man here. He almost killed half of the school. And according to a newspaper trusted implicitly by most of the wizarding world, I am to be regarded as nearly as bad as he is. I am forever linked with him and him with me. Whatever I do, I doubt that will be easily forgotten."

Tonks was staring furiously at the ceiling. "But it was _rubbish_!" she declared from between gritted teeth, fighting to keep her voice to a respectable level to ward off further stares. "Rita Skeeter had her quill stuck up her…"

"_Nevertheless_," Remus interrupted quickly before the young Auror chose to get any more graphic. "That doesn't change the facts. They don't know that and they are unlikely to ever be told different. I cannot avoid or escape my association with Kane no matter what I do."

"So why do you keep _trying_?" Tonks leaned sharply forward. "Why do you keep running away?"

Remus bit his lip. "Because I do not want to be somewhere that I am despised for something that I can in no way help!"

There was a long silence.

The fervour faded from Tonks' face as she stared at him slowly. Gently, she reached forward and squeezed his hand.

"It was the bite, wasn't it?" she said suddenly, with an uncharacteristic soft seriousness. "The personal reason you wouldn't tell me that time in The Howling – it was that Kane was the one who made you a werewolf and brought all this down on you."

Remus carefully avoided her gaze at the flood of unpleasant memories that her observation invoked. He was not going to discuss this in the middle of a pub full of people who wanted him gone.

"Partly, yes," he admitted finally. "There was a little more to it than that but I'm afraid I'm not really ready to discuss it with anyone but my dad right now."

To his surprise, Tonks made no protest – she simply reached forward and wrapped both her hands around his.

"Well, that's up to you." She spoke slowly, as though considering every word with care: it made a stark contrast to her usual helter-skelter style of conversation. "But Remus, you're really starting to worry me. You don't _talk _anymore." She shrugged slightly. "Okay, you were never exactly a chatty bloke in the first place, but this is different. You're just keeping everything you think and feel bottled up inside and mate, it's just not healthy. No one can take that kind of pressure and since Sirius died, I've been half waiting for you to blow, to let rip with anger, or sarcasm or tears or _something_. But you don't and that kind of scares me because that means the pressure's still there. And then with this stupid Kane business piling in too, not to mention bloody Skeeter…" She sighed deeply. "To be honest, that's kind of the reason I asked you here tonight. I really wanted to you to relax, open up a bit maybe, and even let some steam off. I wasn't expecting a visit from Fergus the bigoted drunk." She frowned grimly at the prostrate, snoring figure as she toyed loosely with her companion's hands. "I don't want to butt in if you don't want me to. But I can see you going down the same way as Sirius and I don't think I can stand to watch that again."

Remus stared at her. "Sirius? What do you mean?"

Tonks met his eyes once more. "I know you noticed too," she stated softly, lowering her voice carefully to avoid unfriendly ears. "Sirius and Grimmauld Place – he was going _mental_ in there, prowling around like a caged animal, brooding about Harry and chaffing at being as good as banged up again after all that time he lost in Azkaban. But he never _talked_ about it. He just let the steam build and build until…." Her voice trailed away and she bit her lip.

Remus fought down a cold chill as he remembered the fervour on Sirius' face that last day, his absolute insistence that he would _not_ be left behind again. Out of Grimmauld Place to help Harry – Remus could see in his eyes that no force on Earth would have made him stay behind. It had been gathering too long inside for him to bear the strain a moment longer.

"He blew," he whispered softly. "And he died for it."

Tonks nodded softly. "And just over a week ago, you nearly joined him."

There was a long silence.

The young Auror's eyes were glistening but she allowed no tears to fall. "I loved Sirius," she said softly. "He was my cousin and my friend and I wish more than anything that I could have had more time to get to know him. But maybe if he hadn't tried to deal with all his problems by himself, he might still be here. And I can't stand to think that the same thing might happen to you. And maybe you hide it better, Remus, but you can't deny that you're in pretty dire need of a vent."

Remus half opened his mouth to respond, but her sharp squeeze of his hands froze the words hovering on his lips.

"No Remus, just let me finish, okay?" she pre-empted him gently. "You've been keeping secrets for months and look what it got you." Leaning forward gently, she pulled down the edge of his scarf to expose the scarred skin underneath. "Scars inside and out that you keep on trying to cover. You've got to stop hiding, Remus. You hate confrontations and you hate that people might think badly of you and so you hide from them all so the don't have the chance. Maybe that's because you're afraid of what they might say about you being a werewolf or whatever, but mate – give people a chance. Let them give you a chance. And if they aren't willing to do that, they aren't worth knowing."

Remus cocked an ironic eyebrow. "People like Fergus?"

Tonks ignored him quite deliberately. Carefully she leaned forward, her expression of concern reluctantly forcing away the bitterness of his.

"And Remus – give _me _a chance," she said, her voice filled with sudden intensity, her eyes pleading. "You don't have to hide from me. I know I'm clumsy and a terror to innocent furniture and do daft things with my hair, and I know you said I scare you." She smiled slightly. "But I want you to understand that if you need to talk to someone, or just want to go out, have some fun and some laughs and forget about the stupid world, you can always, _always_ come to me. Because I'll always be there. Waiting in the wings with chocolate frogs at the ready and all the butterbeer you can drink without bursting. So come on." She jostled him slightly, her smile now tentatively crooked. "Tell Auntie Tonks your problems and she'll see what she can do. I promise you'll feel better for it."

Remus stared at her, at the impulsive, wild haired, usually cheerful young woman who was regarding him with such perceptive seriousness and felt a sudden rush of gratitude for her. It had been so long since he had spent time with a friend he could simply talk to, a friend who would listen to his problems and willingly share them; oh, there had been Sirius of course, but considering the burden of grief that had been laid across his shoulders by fate, Remus had not felt it right to inflict him with his own petty-by-comparison concerns. He had forgotten just how much he missed it.

And how much he needed it too.

He smiled. "Where do you want me to start?"

Midnight chimed. Snow burdened clouds flitted across the sliver of a crescent moon.

"_Alohamora!_"

With an uncertain creak, the lock holding closed the window to Remus Lupin's bedchamber sprung open. A gloved hand stretched from snowy skies to pull it wider.

"Careful! It's a long way down, you know."

"Yes, thank you Tonks, I can see that."

"Sarcasm, Professor, is the lowest form of wit."

"I'd sooner it didn't get any lower, if you don't mind. Because it'll be about six storeys lower if you don't keep this broom still."

"Oh, honestly. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"About twenty years in the past. Oh dear Gods, please don't twitch like that! This isn't a very big windowsill I'm aiming for and it's _icy_!"

"You'll be fine. That natural werewolf agility and all. Though I must admit you're the only man I know who can get tipsy on butterbeer alone."

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response. Why on earth didn't you just take me to the door like I asked?"

"Where's the fun in that? Anyway, you said you were knackered. I was trying to save you from all those stairs."

"Stairs or a plunge to my death. Quite a choice."

"Oh just get off my broom and stop moaning. Call yourself a Marauder?"

"Okay, I'm serious now. Just hold it steady…"

"Careful!"

"I'm being careful!"

"Grab onto the window frame!"

"I am! _Tonks!_"

"That was the _wind_! Not me!"

"Just don't…I'm almost…_there!_"

CRASH! 

From the darkened, snow swirled skies, Tonks hunched down on her broomstick against the chill bite of the wind and peered slowly into the unlit blackness of the chamber beyond.

"You know," she commented thoughtfully. "That was a really silly place to put a vase of flowers."

The brow, dishevelled hair and utterly unimpressed eyes of Remus Lupin appeared slowly from below the windowsill.

"They were a get well present," he informed her as he rested one hand against the sill and pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. "I had to put them somewhere. I'll admit I didn't allow for the contingency that they might someday be in the way when I clambered in through my sixth floor bedroom window after a night at the pub."

"That was short-sighted of you." Tonks grinned as she hunkered down into the warmth of her makeshift scarf, a rather odd arrangement of her own extremely over-lengthened hair that she had wrapped around her neck for the cold broom ride to Hogwarts. "Aren't you going to fix it?"

Remus shrugged. "I'll do it in the morning. I quite honestly can't be bothered. I'm exhausted."

Tonks squinted slightly. "No offence mate, but you look it too. I'm sorry I dragged you out."

Remus shook his head at once. "Don't be. I had fun." He smiled rather ruefully. "For the first time in longer than I'd care to admit, as it happens."

Tonks smiled back. "You certainly did liven up once I got a few butterbeers down you, even if you were flagging a bit by the end. So…" She settled nonchalantly upright on her broom. "You want to do this again sometime when you're feeling better?"

Remus smiled sincerely. "I'd love to."

The young Auror beamed. "Excellent! Well then I will see you soon, Professor Lupin."

The werewolf gave a small mock salute. "See you soon Auror Tonks."

Tonks blessed with one final cheeky smile. And then, with an exaggerated whoop, she turned her broomstick in the air and vanished into the depths of the snowy darkness.

Still smiling to himself, Remus reached over and pulled the window closed. Sidestepping the broken vase, he stumbled across the room and dropped himself with a groan onto his four-poster bed, wearily peeling off his scarf and gloves as he fought to keep his eyes open. A half-hearted flick of his wand brought the bedside lamp to life.

He wasn't certain he had ever felt this tired. But it had been worth it.

There had certainly been fun and laughter to echo that early burst of daftness later on in that night at the Three Broomsticks, jokes and games and silliness that harked back to times of his youth he'd thought long lost. Firewhiskey had not been touched – both parties had been of the opinion that they were more than capable of making prats of themselves whilst sober. It had been a long time, far too long a time, since he had spent a good night out with a friend.

But the early part of the night had been more serious. They had talked for more than two hours, ranging through a good number of the topics that had preyed recently upon his mind – the reaction of the children and people who had read the Prophet to his return to teaching, his own still fragile health and of course, the weighty issue of Abraham Kane's invitation. Tonks had reassured him on most counts and, although Remus was sure she was privately of the opinion that he would do better to rip his own eyeballs out than ever go near Kane again, she had allowed that it was his decision and his issues that needed to be weighed in order to make it. He was no closer to deciding what to do about Kane than he had been before he left. But now at least he had realised that the decision needed to be made.

No more hiding.

His eyes fell upon the drawer of his bedside table. He frowned.

Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled the drawer open and lifted out the Ministry letter inside, its seal unbroken, its words unread. He was a grown man. It was wrong of him to run away from a piece of paper.

But what the paper had to say…

For a long blank moment, Remus did nothing but stare down at the envelope grasped in his hands as he struggled within himself to summon up the courage he needed.

And then he broke the seal.

**A/N:** As an experiment in writing romantic stuff, I am actually attempting to convert the events of these two chapters into an Oblivious-independent romantic three chapter RL/NT one off piece. However since it is being written only in occasional free lunch hours, don't expect to see it too soon…;)

**Reviewer Responses:**

**CurlsofSerenity **– Can't say I've ever come across that one! Though as you can see, it didn't turn out so badly for Remus in the end. :)

**The Thief Kuronue** – What I like about Tonks is that she has the potential to be both playful and fun and serious and professional, which is what I hope these two chapters have shown. :)

**Jello **– It amused me too. I think Remus has earned a moment of silliness! :) I suspect Fergus will be feeling fairly crappy the next morning, never fear! ;)

**Unforgettable** – Glad you liked it! Hope the exams and homework ease off for you soon. :)

**superpan **– I shall pass that on, although she may get smug…;) I'm glad you enjoy the downtimes as I very much like writing them but I always worry I'm boring people and should hurry back to the action! :)

**JennyJoy4** – The weather was pretty much as described as I was writing that chapter so I was rather writing from life! ;) And smack away – it might sober Fergus up….;)

**Howling Wolf** – Never mind, Remus had a good evening in the end in spite of Fergus. :)

**TwizzlerChick106** – Glad you liked it! I agree, perhaps someone should dry Fergus up! And as you can see, Remus' evening didn't turn out to badly in the end. :)

**a happy bibliophile** – I'm glad your exams are over and hopefully you've done better than you thought. I came out of an exam convinced I'd done quite badly once and got one of my best marks! (((hugs))). I hope I helped lift you a bit and as you can see, Remus had a better evening than expected. :)

The next chapter will be along on Wednesday and will include a certain Potions Master….;)


	39. Acceptance

_39: Acceptance_

It had been a long day.

Remus sighed as he dropped wearily into his chair, depositing his class textbook and lesson plan with a thump onto his desk. That book had never seemed so heavy until now.

He had forgotten just how tiring teaching could be whilst feeling rather under the weather. That he had managed to get through the last two days without a repeat performance of the Wednesday before full moon was something for which he was eternally grateful. One _swooning fit_, as Snape had so delicately put it, was bad enough, but two he was certain would never be lived down.

A disgruntled grindylow head-butted the side of its tank with a rattle - absently Remus grabbed a handful of the feed his father had sent and sprinkled it over the top of the water, his eyes roaming around the shelves and corners of his office. It felt strange to be back here, in what was for him the most ordinary of surroundings, so far removed from his life of the last month, quiet and undisturbed. When he had first ventured back into this room two days before, he had discovered it to be eerily as he had left it – blanket flung on the floor, Marauder's Map staked out and active beside the now dark fireplace, scrape marks still etched down the sides of his doorframe marking the moment when his ill-timed transformation had taken hold. A little tidying and the assistance of a couple of obliging house-elves had quickly put pay to the reminders but the feelings caused by memories were not so easily erased.

It could be done. But he'd had quite enough of memory charms for one lifetime.

In the distance, though the open door, he could hear faraway chatter and the clatter of footsteps that marked the progress of the students of Hogwarts as they made their way down for their Friday dinner. It formed quite a contrast to the sounds – and smells – of two weeks before. Just a fortnight, that was all, yet now the night was utterly changed, the new moon dark and hiding in the sky with barely a sliver to display. How could time that passed so fast feel so much like an eternity?

He had already paid dearly for his night out with Tonks. Wednesday had been an utter washout as far as resuming teaching was concerned – Poppy had taken one look at his pale features as he stumbled awkwardly to breakfast and publicly ordered him back to his chambers to rest for the day. However, nothing short of a full-scale apocalypse or possibly the wrath of Poppy Pomfrey if he'd proved brave enough to tell her would have prevented Remus from teaching again on Thursday. He had started out lightly, taking only his NEWT and OWL classes and, finding himself more able to cope than he had expected, he had stepped back into his full duties today. By his own rationale, if the classes did indeed exhaust him, at least he would have the weekend to recover.

And they had exhausted him. But not as much as he had feared.

Perhaps now things could get back to normal.

Back to normal. Was there such a thing in Hogwarts? But if there was, it was a state of existence that Remus had been unable to dare hope for when he had stepped back into his teaching role the day before. Even given the evidence of the petition and Tonks' reassuring words, Remus had found it difficult to accept that things would not be different. A good half of the school had seen him as a werewolf. Many of those had watched him fight like a werewolf. And even for those who had not, he could not imagine there was a single student in the castle who had not read Rita Skeeter's article. And if they had read the article – he shuddered in spite of himself – they had also seen _that_ photograph.

How could things not change after that?

How could they ever see him the same way again?

They couldn't. Of course they couldn't. Without mass memory charms, that would be impossible. They would treat him differently now.

He was right. But not at all in the way he expected.

The look was there. In the eyes of all who had seen him, he could see it clearly – the same cocktail of wariness, pity, fear and apprehension that he knew far too well. His early Thursday classes had been unusually quiet.

But once the lessons had begun, he had been astonished to find that most of the pupils melted back into their familiar behaviours. There were sneers, of course, and mutters behind his back; that much he had come to expect. The snide comments and wary looks were undeniably slightly more obvious in many cases but the wide-ranging outbreak of fear and dislike he had been secretly expecting had utterly failed to materialise. Many watched him with caution, some with mistrust and a few with outright fear. But yet somehow, it didn't seem to matter, for so many more seemed simply _glad _he was there.

There was nothing overt about their reaction to his return. Beyond the petition, there was no grand gesture, no rounds of applause at breakfast or open demonstrations of support amongst the children. There was instead a quiet acceptance of his presence, translated into smiles in the corridors, respectful nods and friendly, good-natured banter in the classroom. Oh, the look was there, but somehow it seemed to make very little difference.

The students did treat him differently. Now they understood.

And knowing the whole bleak reality, they accepted him.

And that was more than good enough for Remus.

But the acceptance was not universal. Severus Snape was undeniably avoiding him.

At first, Remus had assumed it to be no more than a coincidence. He had never had a great deal to do with Snape in the first place, little more than nods in the corridors and occasional exchanges of carefully phrased barbs. But now, even the nods and the jousts of words had evaporated. When he passed the Potions Master now he was blanked, ignored, or, if by some stroke of ill fortune he was unavoidable, Snape regarded him shortly and silently in the manner of something especially unpleasant recently scraped from a shoe. When he had tried to speak to his colleague during a staff meeting the evening before to thank him for his part in covering his lessons, the Slytherin had turned without a word and deliberately walked away. By the time he had also realised that Snape was positioning himself carefully at the opposite end of the staff table to Remus during every meal, it had come as no surprise. Beyond the single nod and brief, clipped statement of his name he had been deigned with on the morning that Snape had dispersed his father's supporters outside the Hospital Wing window, Severus had not once so much as acknowledged his existence with more than a brief scowl of disdain.

He recognised the pattern well.

He had endured it for several months following the ill-chosen prank of Sirius that had resulted in his almost killing Severus Snape.

And so had James Potter.

Remus shook his head. Poor Severus. To have his life saved by the werewolf who once tried to eat him. It would be a struggle for the Slytherin to produce enough bile to fully cover such an awful eventuality. No wonder he had taken to blanking the object of his ire. He would surely have choked to death otherwise on the fruits of his labour.

Remus forced down further uncharitable thoughts. That wasn't fair, not really. Such a situation would truly be quite difficult for Snape to come to terms with. But his solution – to utterly ignore the cause of his difficulty – was flawed in the extreme and deeply unsatisfying for both sides. Such a stalemate could not continue indefinitely; at some point in the future, some manner of resolution would need to be thrashed out, some settler that allowed for the equally unfriendly but rather more endurable status quo to return. The events of the full moon needed to be accepted so that both men could move on. Otherwise they would be trapped in this emotional limbo forever.

Closure was needed. And not just with Snape.

It was staring at him again. That blasted envelope.

Why he had allowed it to remain sitting on his desk in such a blatant, distracting manner escaped him. He recalled fuzzy late-night reasoning about not hiding from his difficult decisions and forcing himself to face the issue rather than simply allowing it to slide until a resolution was too late. It all seemed perfectly logical and sensible but it did not change the fact that he had done nothing about it but endure the envelope's bayful stare for two days. And he did not have much longer before time would run out.

Neat Ministry writing, his name, his location, gleamed in the glimmering candlelight, concealing the dilemma in words that lay beneath.

The Kiss of Abraham Kane had been scheduled for 3pm, a week that Sunday, six days before the next full moon. He had been invited to attend.

In a letter carefully written by Kingsley, his presence had also been requested in the holding cells at his convenience any time before the day of execution itself for an audience with the condemned. All that was required was one day's notice of his intention to visit. They awaited his response.

They'd been waiting a week. And Remus was no closer to ending their suspense.

He was at a genuine loss to decide the best course of action. On the one hand, quite reasonably, he would be perfectly happy never to see Abraham Kane again. The arguments of his father and friends regarding a possible trap, ulterior motives and the dangers of subjecting himself to whatever reputation-smearing remarks the feral might care to throw about had all been acknowledged and taken in. To stay away was easily the safest and most sensible course of action.

But it felt wrong.

This needed to end. There was an excellent case to state that no one had impacted more upon his life than his erstwhile cousin and for such an important if unpleasant relationship in his life to simply fade away in such an unsatisfying, inconclusive manner tore at his consciousness like a knife. And there was more. Their last meeting, the confrontation in the entrance hall, had been on Kane's terms, a werewolf's fight, his rules, his dictation. And that was not the way that Remus wanted their tortuous shared history to conclude.

He did not want Kane to dominate his life unseen forever more. He wanted to end it on his terms. On human terms.

But was it really worth the risks involved?

Would he even gain closure at all?

And would closure even be possible? Even real?

"Lupin."

Remus jumped violently at the unexpected voice, his eyes snapping up to find the shadow-robed figure looming in his open doorway, eyes dark and skin pasty sallow. But Severus Snape was not regarding him with the repulsed disdain he had come to expect over recent days. Instead there was a kind of determined resignation locked into his features as he scowled at the man seated before him with a far more familiar glare of infinite dislike.

Supporting himself cautiously against the arms of his chair, Remus pushed himself to his feet and met the sneering gaze with quiet politeness.

"Severus," he said softly. "What can I do for you?"

Snape's eyes flickered darkly at his colleague's choice of words.

"I don't owe you anything, you know," he exclaimed abruptly, his voice low and vaguely accusatory. "If you are expecting me to grovel at the feet of my…_rescuer_," he spat the word out as though it had turned sour. "You will be waiting a _very_ long time. I owed nothing towards James Potter and I owe nothing towards you. Both of your actions were tainted by nothing more than self interest."

Remus kept very still as he leaned forward against his desk, painfully aware of the knife-edge on which this conversation was precariously balancing. This was not the time to say the wrong thing.

"I did not expect anything from you," he replied softly. "I would not presume to."

"Good," Snape barked the word with enough sharpness to bleed the air. "You tried to _kill_ me once, Lupin and whether you were complicit or not in Black's actions, it does not alter the fact that you nearly succeeded. That nullifies any kind of Wizard's Debt that may have otherwise been imposed. If this…_incident_ has any effect, it is only to make us even."

"I understand that."

"So if you were expecting any kind of…_gratitude_…"

"I wasn't."

"Good. Because I do not intend to give it."

"Of course not."

Snape was regarding him with intensive suspicion. Clearly he had been expecting some manner of protest.

"Are you _mocking_ me, Lupin?" he scowled suddenly. "Because if you are planning something…"

Remus felt it important to cut quickly across this line of thought. "I'm _not_," he interrupted quickly, enduring the cold stare that engulfed him for his impudence. "I really mean it, Severus. I just want to put this whole business behind me."

Snape arched an eyebrow. "So this is for _your _benefit. I am supposed to do more favours for you, to aid in _your_ peace of mind."

Remus barely succeeded in suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. There was no one in the world as gifted as Severus Snape at twisting people's words.

"That's not what I meant," he said, carefully stifling the hint of frustration that threatened to creep into his words. "I didn't save your life with the intention of using it against you. I saved you because it seemed like the right thing to do."

Snape sneered. "The noble werewolf. Perhaps you have missed your vocation. I understand in the mountains of Europe, they employ dogs such as you to dig stranded Muggles from the snow."

Remus hardened his jaw with grim determination. He was _not _going to rise. If an argument ensued, this ridiculous cold war between them would never be resolved.

"Would you rather I had left you to die?" he asked softly. "Or would have preferred to be bitten and brew Wolfsbane for yourself once a month?"

There was an awkward silence.

Beneath his sallow features, Snape was glowering intensely. "Do you try to trick gratitude from me now?"

Remus drew a sharp breath. "I'm not trying to trick you into doing anything. I'm not my friends, Severus. One of these days you'll realise that."

The Slytherin glared down the length of his nose. "I don't trust you."

"I can't help that. I don't want anything from you. Believe me and let this all be behind us, or cling on to your ire and keep dragging it on forever." He stared at his former schoolmate with unrelenting eyes. "It's up to you."

There was a long silence. Snape's dark eyes pierced the stillness of the air as they bored into his colleague's skin.

"You will not raise this matter again." The statement was abrupt, and filled with determined authority. "And will not hold it against me at any point in the future."

Remus nodded. "You have my word."

Snape sneered. "The word of a _werewolf_…"

"That is the only word I have to give."

The Potions Master considered this for a moment. "Very well," he conceded finally. "I will accept that if I must." He hesitated slightly. "I am glad to find you so reasonable, Lupin."

Remus smiled carefully. "It is easy to be reasonable about the right thing. Thank you for coming, Severus. I did not want to impose myself on you but it is important in such matters to clear the air."

The look on Snape's face implied that he would have preferred to sacrifice clear air for the opportunity to fill it with poisonous gas and lock the door with Remus inside. But the stiff, uncertain quality that had existed over the last fortnight was absent. The uneasy truce that passed for their association had been re-established.

"If you say so, Lupin," he drawled with curl of the lip. "Now if you will excuse me, I have far more pressing matters to attend to."

"Of course." With a gracious nod, Remus lowered himself back into his chair. For a moment longer, Snape lingered, his dark eyes flashing from within the depths of his pale features. But then with a swish of his robes, the Head of Slytherin turned and swept away down the corridor.

For a moment, Remus stared at the wide, empty doorway, listening to the retreat of footsteps vanishing into the distance. Then he sighed.

Well, that was _interesting_.

Snape had been rude. He had been brusque. He had been openly hostile. He had shown no kind of respect for Remus, or even a remote appreciation for the fact he had saved his life. And yet…

And yet Remus felt so much _better_.

There would always be tension between them of course. That was inevitable. But the added tension, the uncertainty that had unbalanced what was, after all, years of finely tuned and carefully managed dislike on both sides; that had melted away. The issue had been addressed. Both sides had stated their positions and established their ground once more in the face of new developments. Oh, they would never be friends by any stretch – that was asking the impossible – but at least now both participants in their mutual dislike of each other knew inside that they were back on equal terms.

No debts were pending. Nothing was owed.

There was closure on this awkward chapter, on two awkward chapters if Snape had truly meant his remark about their being even. And now life could go on as before.

Remus felt his gaze shift onto the Ministry letter perched on his desk.

Closure.

However awkward, unpleasant or recriminatory it was, it would be over.

Was it worth the risk?

Yes.

Reaching for his quill and a piece of parchment, Remus settled himself down determinedly and pulled out his letter from the Ministry. He needed to do this before he changed his mind.

He dipped his quill in the inkpot and started to write.

_Dear Mr Shacklebolt,_

_I would like to accept the invitation to speak with Abraham Kane prior to his condemnation by Dementor's Kiss. If it is convenient, I would like to attend this Sunday at…_

**A/N**: So…he's going to go…. (as if most of you hadn't guessed…) ;)

**Reviewer Responses**:

**CurlsofSerenity **– It wasn't that much of a cliffhanger….was it? :)

**Neoma** – I hope school lessens off for you soon. :) I thought after all I'd put Remus through he deserved a bit of light-heartedness. :)

**Cherokee girl** – For when you get this far – thank you! :) I've always felt that a lot of fics make Remus far too serious – any man who can dress Severus Snape in a green dress and vulture hat with a red handbag must have a certain sense of humour. And I'm glad the prank worked for you. :)

**bookworm-jill** – He had a nice chapter this time! Although may I suggest investing in tranquilisers before we hit chapter 41? ;)

**TwizzlerChick106** – I really didn't think of it as a cliffhanger! And the decision is made now so Remus will be off to the Ministry….

**Jello** – I think Tonks might have been teasing about the butterbeer. ;) And as you can – the decision, for better or worse, is made…:)

**The Thief Kuronue** – Well I'm keeping this fic romance free so need to worry there. My possible romantic adaptation of those two chapters is coming along but if romance isn't your thing, do feel free to avoid it! :)

**superpan** – The RL/NT version of these two chapters is coming along – the rough unpolished version of the first two parts have been posted on my live journal. I thought there were parallels to be drawn between Remus and Sirius in this context. Glad the British stuff is interesting! Whilst – well, I don't think it gets used in everyday speech very much over here but I do see it written down a great deal. It just sounds better than while, I don't know why! ;)

**animaluvr1 **– Thank you very much! I do like to use names with significance in my fics as I think JKR does too. :) I will pass the praise on to my beta. :) And RL/NT – as I said, I'm not doing it in this fic, but I am writing a short 3 chapter piece adapted from the Three Broomsticks chapters. And thank you for recommending me! :)

**Howling Wolf 22** – Remus does seem a little too introverted at times, bless him. I thought it was about time somebody brought it to light…:)

**Library Kat** – I rather liked that moment too. It was nice to write a bit of daftness. :)

**aurelie1** – I wanted to have some lightness in these closing chapters. I think Remus and we all need it! :)

**Cestari** – Bless her. :)

**HPWickedChistery** – I'm glad you like it. Welcome aboard! :)

Thank you all very much for reviewing and the next part will be along on Saturday in which Remus arrives at the Ministry Holding cells… :)


	40. Ready or Not

_40: Ready Or Not_

It was cold.

His breath hung misty in the morning air, the wind a frozen tickle that poked through his threadbare robes, frost glittering on the mounds of refuse that lay heaped across this pungent back alley. But the chill that filled the bones of Remus Lupin had very little to do with the weather.

Pulling his cloak tighter, Remus stared blankly at the battered red door, the makeshift skull and crossbones painted in peeling grimness across its surface grinning at him with lopsided mockery, and attempted for the fourth time to gather enough courage to step inside.

_Some Gryffindor you are, Lupin_. _Afraid of a door_.

But it was not the door that trembled his fingers or locked his heart in weighty stone. It was the prospect of what lay beyond.

_I don't think I can do this. This was a very bad idea_.

Had he been too hasty? Making such an important decision on an impulse, a whim, caught in the glow of a brief conversation that had brought a strange kind of closure, he had written a letter and literally thrown himself to the wolves.

Today he would speak with Abraham Kane. One week before the feral's Kiss, he had come to respond to the condemned werewolf's final request.

Quite which werewolf was condemned was yet to be established. That, he suspected, would rather depend on what was said.

His friends thought he was mad. Minerva had frowned severely and shaken her head when he had confessed his acceptance at Saturday breakfast. Poppy had scolded him and warned him not to exert himself. Kingsley's head had appeared in his fire not long after, making absolutely certain that he was sure about the meeting. Moody had sent him a blistering letter on the importance of constant vigilance as soon as headquarters received word, a written lecture punctuated by vividly detailed descriptions of possible consequences if he erred. Tonks had appeared abruptly at his window on her broomstick not long after noon, allowing that it was his decision, but filling the air with dire warnings about the duplicity of ferals that echoed those of Moody. Even Albus, who had appeared at his chambers that afternoon as he waded through his backlog of marking, had told him above all to take care.

Only his father had said nothing. But the look in his eyes as he stared at his son's head in the fireplace had been more potent than any words.

And now here he was. Standing outside the entrance to the Ministry holding cells against the advice of almost everyone in the world he held dear and trying to decide just what had become of his sanity.

And he couldn't just stand here forever.

Remus hardened his jaw and forced away his negativity. With a firm hand, he reached out and tapped the rusty padlock twice with his wand.

The eye sockets of the skull and crossbones blinked. The crudely drawn, crooked teeth flexed.

"Yes?" a hollow voice snapped abruptly.

Remus squared his shoulders. "Remus Lupin," he said clearly and firmly. "I have an appointment with a Mr Shacklebolt to visit a high security prisoner."

"Just a moment." The disembodied eyes vanished for a moment, the skull once more reduced to nothing but roughly drawn paint. Then abruptly the eerie gaze was back.

"You're cleared," the voice admitted, with a certain apparent reluctance. "Be prepared to surrender your wand and any potential weapons you may be carrying when you report to the front desk."

"Understood." Remus nodded his consent as the padlock gave a rusty groan and clicked open. A moment later the door swung wide.

The reception area of the Ministry holding cells was a great deal quieter than upon his last visit. Indeed, reasonably early on a Sunday morning as it was, the broad reception with its uncomfortable looking scattering of wooden chairs and imposing front desk was empty but for a disgruntled looking young officer from the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol who was slumped in boredom at the reception desk. Spotting Remus as he arrived, he pushed himself reluctantly to his feet.

"Yes?" he snapped irritably.

Remus risked a half-smile. "I'm Remus Lupin. I'm here to…"

"I know." The officer cut him off abruptly with a dismissive wave of the hand. "Mr Shacklebolt will be with you in a moment." Clearly early morning weekend duty in the cells was not an assignment that this young Law Enforcer anticipated with joy and happiness, and it was made all the worse when some inconsiderate arrival made him work. "Whilst you're waiting, please hand in your wand and any offensive weapons you may be carrying. You will also be required to submit to a magical search."

Remus quietly approached the desk and laid his wand down on the wooden surface without comment. The young officer lifted it with mild distaste, dropping it with a certain lack of care onto the brass dish of a set of scales identical to the one used by the security wizard at the entrance to the Ministry of Magic. He tore off the strip of paper produced without even looking at it as he thrust it into the face of his visitor with a frown.

"Is this right?" he declared, his face a mixture of annoyance and resentment. A little nonplussed, Remus examined the details briefly and nodded.

"Yes, it is."

"Good." The young officer stabbed the piece of paper viciously down on a desk spike. Turning his back on his visitor with a huff, he casually yanked open a small wooden casket resting on a shelf behind the desk and deposited Remus' wand with a clatter. A magical lock clicked into place as he dropped the lid shut.

"You'll get that back when you're done," he muttered with a jerk of his head. His lip twisted. "Please stand still whilst I scan you for weapons."

A few random waves of a little blue bauble and a couple of muttered spells seemed to serve as a comprehensive scan as far as the officer was concerned. He regarded his visitor and shrugged.

"You're clean," he informed Remus, waving his hand in the direction of the scatter of chairs. "So take a seat."

Remus half opened his mouth to inquire how long it was likely to be before Kingsley arrived but his ever-helpful receptionist had already turned his back and stalked away through a door behind the desk, muttering something that sounded distinctly like "_bloody werewolves_" under his breath. Further help seemed distinctly unlikely.

Fortunately, at that moment, the tall, dark form of Kingsley Shacklebolt came striding out of the entrance that led into the holding cells, eyes sharp and earring jangling. His gaze fell on Remus and he came sharply to a halt.

"Re… Mr Lupin!" he exclaimed in surprise, hurriedly catching himself as he glanced around with a hint of anxiety for any possible listeners. "How long have you been here?"

Remus shrugged slightly, indicating with an easy wave of the hand that they were apparently alone. "A couple of minutes maybe. Your reception officer scanned me, took my wand and went into the back. I was about to take a seat."

Kingsley's expression darkened as his shoulders relaxed a little. "I told Fenton to call me the minute you arrived," he said, his deep, rich voice filled with distinct irritation. "Ever since he was turned down for Auror training, that boy has been a liability. Somebody will have to have words." He sighed. "Oh well, no matter I suppose."

Remus made his way slowly across the room to join the Auror. His footsteps felt ridiculously like lead weights that dragged at every step. He sought to focus above the rising well of dread in his chest.

"How soon will you be ready for me?" he asked softly.

Kingsley regarded him with something resembling sympathy. "We're ready now," he replied. "If you are."

Was he ready? Remus almost smiled at the bitter irony of the question. No, of course he wasn't. Even with a thousand years to prepare himself, he was not certain he'd ever be ready for this. When it came to Abraham Kane, he never was.

He should never have come. What difference would closure make when all was said and done? And what kind of closure was even possible with the feral? Why had he come to this place, come to subject himself to another sarcastic barrage of taunts, of twisted words and cruel descriptions? Why was he submitting to whatever accusations the feral had to throw? Why…

"Remus?"

Kingsley was staring at his silence with a hint of concern. Remus smiled wanly.

"I'm ready," he said.

The Auror simply nodded. "This way," he indicated.

The corridor seemed to flow endlessly to nowhere. Cell door after identical cell door passed by on either side – one, Remus knew, must have been his home for the night of a few weeks before but he neither could nor cared to try and identify it. He fell easily into the step with Kingsley instead, trying to ignore the mutters, groans and snores that issued from behind several of the confinement cells they passed. There were guards too, members of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol on this level at least, for this was their domain, the place of the petty criminals, the little crimes and brief lock-up for those who broke the law but had not yet earned their Azkaban ticket. Remus avoided their steely-eyed gaze with care.

As they stepped aside to allow a guard to move absently past, Kingsley leaned in closer to his ear.

"Remember you don't know really me," he reminded, his voice a mere whisper. "Before I delivered your letters, we'd never met."

Remus nodded. "Of course."

Kingsley glanced from side to side quickly, but no one was in sight but the rapidly retreating guard. "There'll be an identity test at the door," he murmured as they started to move on. "The door won't open unless you've passed. It's just a sniff of veritaserum vapour to ensure that you aren't an impostor using polyjuice; don't worry, it'll wear off before you get to the cells but it might be a good idea to resist any urges to say anything more than who you are and why you're here."

The end of the corridor loomed, a solid steel door lined with heavy bolts, the words HIGH SECURITY CELLS: ABSOLUTELY NO ENTRY EXCEPT TO AUTHORISED PERSONNEL AND THE CRIMINALLY INSANE engraved deeply into the metal. Two figures stood guard – one slouching against the frame in the traditional garb on the Werewolf Capture Unit, half asleep and clearly uninterested and one upright and alert in Auror robes. His eyes fixed on Kingsley and he nodded briskly in acknowledgement of the Auror's gesture of recognition.

"Auror Shacklebolt," he said, lifting a small vial from an alcove in the wall and holding it out before him. "If you wouldn't mind?"

Kingsley accepted the vial carefully and raised it to his nose. A silver shimmer around the rim confirmed that he had indeed inhaled some vapour.

"Name?"

"Kingsley Shacklebolt."

"Rank?"

"Senior Auror."

"What is your business here?"

"I am escorting Mr Lupin to visit the prisoner Kane."

"Are you under the Imperius Curse or acting for any purpose contrary to your own free will?"

"No."

The Auror smiled slightly. Taking the vial back, he turned and held it out to Remus.

"Inhale once please," he ordered sternly.

Remus obeyed, the rim shimmering silver yet again as he struggled not to gag against the sharp, unpleasant tang of veritaserum vapour within his nostrils. A slight feeling of light-headedness spun across the inside of his skull.

"Name?"

"Remus John Lupin." The answer emerged almost before Remus had consciously registered the question. The lazy eyed Werewolf hunter opened a slow eye.

"Position?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"What is your business here?"

"I am visiting Ab… the feral Kane." Remus fought off the urge to elaborate – he barely managed to prevent himself from using the name Abel Isaacs. This was not the place to start babbling about his convoluted history with the feral.

The Auror's stare fixed on him sharply, his gaze intensive and abruptly suspicious. His eyes narrowed. The Werewolf hunter had moved with a glare to his side, fingering his weapons threateningly.

Remus fought a sudden surge of apprehension. His temporary interrogator had obviously caught his slip and just as obviously was not impressed by it. But what would he think of it? What would he do about it?

He found out a moment later. The vial of vapour was thrust sharply back under his nose.

The Auror's expression was icy. "Inhale again please," he ordered firmly.

Ignoring the chill shiver of concern that ran the length of his spine, Remus moved to obey. But suddenly Kingsley stepped forward, staying both men with a raise of his hand.

"That's hardly procedure, Beaumont," he said with a frown, although Remus detected a well-concealed note of apprehension behind his tone. "One sniff only, remember. And he's confirmed who he is."

The Auror – Beaumont - returned his gaze stubbornly. "He changed his answer mid-sentence," he insisted to his superior with frosty determination, glancing at the silently threatening Werewolf hunter for collaboration. "That justifies a second dose. We need to establish his purpose."

Remus stared at the two Aurors, the light-headed swirl of the veritaserum vapour fading away they wrangled over his honesty. Kingsley was eyeing his junior sternly.

"That's not your job," he stated softly, but his voice was filled with grim warning. "In fact I believe that's mine. Are you saying I can't do my job, Auror Beaumont?"

The atmosphere in the corridor was turning distinctly glacial, an icy chill of unnecessary trouble that cracked the air with ice. Wishing very much he hadn't come, Remus decided it was time to step in.

"It's all right, Mr Shacklebolt," he intervened gently. "I don't mind."

Both Beaumont and the Werewolf hunter shot him glances of harsh suspicion. Kingsley's stare was scarcely less intense.

"Are you sure, Mr Lupin?" he asked, his voice making a fine show of apparent indifference but his eyes filled with echoes of beware. "You don't have to."

"I don't mind," Remus repeated with a great deal more confidence than he felt; his mind tried and failed to fight away the powerful feeling that he had just volunteered to do something rather stupid. Ignoring his doubts with care, he accepted the vial and inhaled a second time. Almost at once his head began to spin.

"What is your business here?" Beaumont repeated at once, ignoring the glare of his superior.

"I am here to speak with the feral Kane." Forcing himself to concentrate, Remus managed to phrase his words with more care.

"Are you under the Imperius curse or acting in any way contrary to your own free will?"

"No. The Imperius curse does not work on a werewolf. I am here of my own free will."

"Are you or have you ever been in any way allied with the prisoner or planned to aid his escape?"

"Beaumont!" Kingsley intervened almost at once. "That's out of line!"

"No."

The single word, crystal clear and decisive, put pay to the potential disagreement. Beaumont glowered reluctantly but withdrew the vial and replaced it in its secured alcove with a frown. The Werewolf hunter also backed down with steely eyes as his Auror companion turned back to the visitors.

"Very well, you're free to pass," he conceded with unmistakable annoyance. A tap of his wand and the muttering of a complex incantation saw the heavy bolt lift out of position; Kingsley caught Remus' arm, clearly eager to move on before Beaumont found any new sources of protest and hurriedly ushered him through. A moment later, the door slammed shut before them.

Remus tried to focus as the light-headed sensation of the veritaserum vapour began to fade but the view before him did little to relieve his odd sense of vertigo. A spiral stairwell dropped steeply down in front of him, dizzying and confined, narrow, windowless and dimly lit as it burrowed deep into the earth to the location of the most secured holding cells outside of Azkaban. Disorientated, fuzzy-headed and feeling slightly queasy, the werewolf stumbled slightly.

Kingsley's grip on his arm tightened instinctively. "Watch yourself, Remus," he cautioned softly. "This stairwell is rigged. If you step in the wrong place, the stairs drop into a slide that'll carry you right down to a secure cell at the bottom. It's not a gentle landing."

His dizziness was easing. Moving carefully, Remus followed cautiously in the Auror's footsteps as he began to ease his way down the steps.

"Tight security," he commented, mimicking Kingsley's careful avoidance of a particular spot.

"For a creature like Kane, it has to be," Kingsley neatly stepped over a worn patch of stone as he gestured at Remus to follow with care. "The last thing the Ministry wants is yet another embarrassing escape on their records. That's the reason they brought him here rather than taking him over to Azkaban. With all the breakouts they've had recently, nobody wanted to take a chance on losing yet another high profile prisoner."

There was a moment of quiet concentration as the two men negotiated a particularly treacherous step. Glancing back to check on his companion's progress, Kingsley's expression flashed with uncharacteristic uncertainty.

"Remus, I think you should know." His voice was soft and wary. "I had a briefing with Moody at Grimmauld Place last night. He told me a couple of facts that weren't in Kane's Ministry file."

Remus looked up sharply at the suddenly apologetic look on the big black man's face. A small pit seemed to burrow its way into the depths of his stomach.

He liked Kingsley. He trusted him. But he had a feeling the subjects on which Moody had briefed him were not those prone to be revealed in the course of casual friendship and Order camaraderie.

He was right.

"He explained about what happened to you in the hospital on the night you were bitten," Kingsley cut straight to the point, his eyes were filled with sympathy. "And that Kane's vendetta against you is something to do with a family connection. He didn't go into much detail but he said he felt it likely that Kane would bring these matters up today and that I ought be prepared." He smiled slightly, an expression tinged with a hint of sadness. "Merlin knows, I've got a lot of respect for you, Remus, and knowing what you fought off as a child only makes it stronger." His smile strengthened reassuringly. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."

Remus gave a small smile in return. "Thank you, Kingsley. I appreciate that."

Kingsley glanced at him sideways. "By the way Remus, I meant to ask – are you any relation to a Rolphe Lupin?"

Remus blinked, taken a little aback by the unexpected question. "My father's brother is called Rolphe," he conceded uncertainly. "Why do you ask?"

The Auror shrugged slightly. "I was looking through the…" He pulled an expression of mild distaste. ".._guest list_ for Kane'sKiss yesterday and I noticed that there were three Lupins invited – you, your father and this Rolphe. And after Moody mentioned a family connection to Kane last night, I was curious."

Instantly Remus mind flashed back to his browse through the Ministry file, to the pair of names he'd come across and all but forgotten. Something clicked sharply into place.

"Is he going?" The question emerged almost before Remus had realised he was asking it.

Kingsley nodded. "He accepted a few days ago. Didn't he let you and your father know?"

Remus shook his head softly. "I've never met him," he admitted, wondering even as he did so why he had never had. "I don't think he's been in contact with us for some years now."

"Ah." Kingsley nodded his quiet understanding and delicately allowed the subject to drop.

A few turns later the stairwell petered out against a heavy, ironbound door. Two round glass lenses glimmered in the flickering light.

Kingsley knocked three times. A moment later, a pair of eyes blinked open.

"Authorisation and Password?" A voice intoned.

"Shacklebolt, K, Auror Division, authorisation KSB872. The password is Lilith."

"And him?"

"Remus Lupin, here to visit the prisoner in accordance with the Decree of Last Rights, Ministry authorisation code Kane767."

The eyes vanished. A moment later, the door swung open.

A small guardroom had been carved from solid bedrock, deceptively smooth-walled and solid looking. Furnishings were understandably sparse – a battered table and four chairs lay in the centre, as well as a canvas camp-bed against the walls. A barrel that contained an assortment of honed and sharpened weaponry from down the ages lay battered in the far corner; a large battle-axe, a sword, a crossbow, two spears, and three Muggle guns lay clustered together in its grasp. All looked ready for use.

Three guards sat clustered around what appeared to be a hand of enchanted poker, at least judging by the fine poker face being displayed by the Queen of Hearts; one Auror and two men in the garb of the WCU. The fourth guard, a second Auror, was sealing the large ironbound door in their wake. An identical, heavily bolted door burrowed into the wall opposite.

The Auror at the table rose at once.

"Auror Shacklebolt," he acknowledged. "And this, I presume, is Remus Lupin."

Kingsley nodded on both their behalves. "That's right. Is everything ready?"

"Yes sir." The new Auror turned and made his way over the imposing doorway opposite. "The monitoring mask is in place for you at the end of the corridor. The prisoner has been checked and secured in his cell. Just tap the second door three times with your wand and state your clearance code for access. Mr Lupin is free to enter whenever he is ready."

There was that word again. Ready. As if that was likely.

Sudden apprehensive fear coursed through Remus' veins like a poison. The familiar shivers that marked the proximity of the feral Kane began to race the length of his limbs and spine as he struggled to catch his breath and still the sudden dizziness of his mind. His scar throbbed slightly.

_I don't want to do this. But it's too late to back out now._

Oblivious to his companion's uncertainty, Kingsley was smiling. "Thank you Gleghorn, that's excellent. If you could just get the door?"

After a moment's fuss, yet another sturdy door was clanging shut behind them. It felt to Remus as though he was somehow the one condemned, the one being locked away and destined never to depart. The narrow strip of corridor within which they lingered halted just ten yards distant at a final, equally sturdy portal sealed shut with a heavy bar. One door to go.

The shivers intensified.

Kingsley's tap on the shoulder caused him to start; he turned to find the Auror regarding him with sympathetic seriousness.

"Let's just check that veritaserum's worn off," he said pointedly. "What's your name?"

Here was something else he could concentrate on, however briefly. "Celestina Warbeck," Remus replied promptly. The first syllable slurred slightly but the lie escaped unhindered. The corners of Kingsley's mouth twitched slightly.

"Either the vapour has worn off," he remarked nonchalantly. "Or that's a very good disguise."

Remus picked at his threadbare robes with a slightly forced grin. "Well, you know how it is. I don't like to get mobbed on the streets by mad autograph hunters on my day off."

Kingsley gave a deep chuckle. "Glad you've still got your sense of humour," he remarked, apparently unaware of the concept of the condemned man laughing as he strode up to his gallows. "Come on, Remus. Let's get this over with."

That was a sentiment to which Remus could relate. Following in Kingsley's wake, he spotted a polished silver mask, its glass eye lenses gleaming dully from its' setting atop a rod that protruded firmly from an alcove beside a rickety stool to the right of the final door. Kingsley dropped down onto the seat with a grimace.

"I hate these remote viewer things," he confided with a disdainful wave of the hand. "But it means I'll be able to see and hear everything that goes on in that room without compromising anything Kane might say. If he gives you any trouble, I'll be straight inside. When you want to leave, just come over to the door and knock." He pulled a slight face. "Normally it would release automatically in case of emergencies…"

"…But it's charmed not to work for werewolves." Remus finished the obvious sentence. "Don't worry Kingsley, that's a perfectly logical measure to take."

The Auror nodded slightly, his expression filled with a sudden deathly seriousness. "Remus, be careful," he said abruptly. "Don't let him goad you into doing anything foolish. Don't get too close to the bars. And for pity's sake, don't fight with him."

Remus regarded his friend and fellow Auror member with calm eyes. His heart was pounding like a rhythmic sledgehammer, his stomach was churning, his spine a mass of ice. He could feel the chill shiver of Kane's presence growing to the point of nearly consuming his focus, the rush of his blood, the pounding echo in his skull and the sharp shimmers of pain across his bite scar.

And he was afraid.

_Afraid. Afraid of Kane?_

_No_.

Sudden determination flooded him from crown to sole. Kane was locked up. He was condemned to death. What on earth was there to fear from him now?

He felt his jaw hardened stubbornly. He was not some petrified three-year old. And he would not behave like one. He was a grown man with strengths of his own, a life of his own, forged in spite of the condition forced upon him by Kane. He was Remus Lupin, teacher, Marauder, Order member and werewolf and he would be damned if he let Abraham Kane scent so much as a whiff of fear.

Calmness descended over him like a gentle wave. The sickening sense of boiling blood and chilled limbs seemed to fade under its touch.

His expression firm and utterly composed, Remus turned to Kingsley.

"It's all right," he said softly. "I just want a quiet word."

Kingsley simply nodded. "Then good luck."

Three taps of a wand and a muttered phrase released the lock with a clank. There was a moment's pause.

Then Remus Lupin pulled open the door and quietly stepped inside.

**A/N: **This chapter was supposed to be the simple few chapter prelude to the events of what is now chapter 41. But I had a bad headache on day of writing so decided to spin out the preliminaries into an extra chapter so I could face the events of the meeting when I was feeling better. :)

**Reviewer Responses**:

**The Thief Kuronue** – He is indeed going. And is indeed there…;)

**JennyJoy4** – I'm afraid you'll have to wait until Wednesday for that. I'm sure it was said in _Philosopher's Stone_ by JKR that Snape trying to save Harry was his way of paying the Wizard's Debt. Maybe I'm wrong.

**Howling-Wolf** – In my original plans, Snape was going to offer grudging thanks. But I just couldn't find it in his character to choke out the words so I came up with that conversation instead! And no, Rey isn't best pleased but he is taking the view that its Remus' decision…:)

**CurlsofSerenity** – Kane's reaction will be interesting. ;) Just one more week to go though and this fic is done! sniffle

**bookworm-jill** – Never mind, only one more week and then he can relax, poor sweetie. :)

**rideraria** – I'm flattered by your request :) but I can't say I've ever really considered that anyone might want to directly use one of my concepts or back-stories. I'm going to be entirely honest and say I'm not hyper keen on the idea, since I have such an incredibly vivid idea of these events in my own head, I can't see how anyone could interpret them as I image, especially when I sometimes have such trouble interpreting them myself! I do have plans to write a few casually mentioned Oblivious events as possible one-shots/short fics and although the Swansong is on the list, I haven't decided yet if I ever plan to write it. But that being said, I don't want to be a possessive meanie about this, so why don't you drop me an email and let me know what you're thinking so I can mull it over properly? I'm not saying no but I'm not saying yes either. I'm saying maybe, so convince me. ;)

**Jello **– Snape is Snape. An utter git and a joy to write! ;)

**Unforgettable** – You were right. :)

**superpan** – Glad the conversation worked for you – I had quite a challenging time finding the right balance to strike in that scene. And chapter 41 is the one to brace for…;)

**animaluvr1** – Good description of Snape. I think Remus' decision is rather a mixture of both. :)

Next update will be on Wednesday with the final chapter -sniffle- to follow on Saturday. :)


	41. A Quiet Word

**A/N**: Much gratitude at this juncture must be extended to SnorkackCatcher of the Mugglenet forum for spotting a big screaming plot parallel that your humble author had successfully managed to completely overlook. That has not prevented me from seizing upon it and weaving it into the very depths of this chapter. Much thanks for the brilliant observation:)

_41: A Quiet Word._

The room was small and dark.

Hewn smoothly from the solid stone of bedrock, the grey walls gleamed slickly with a hint of creeping slime, windowless by virtue of sheer depth and lit only by a pair of guttering torches placed loosely in the brackets to his right. A broad, heavy lattice of bars ran the length of the small cell immediately to his left, cutting the chamber dramatically into two. On the floor two yards ahead, a pottery bowl lay shattered in many pieces at the foot of the vertical uprights, dried drips of gruel solidifying nastily against the metal.

Beyond the bars, the shadows reigned. The faint outline of a battered and broken plank bed hung in splintered tatters from its chains against the back wall. Scratches and dark bloody smears graffitied the walls. The black paint of the bars was chipped and cracked by apparent repeated assaults.

Ferals, it seemed, did not react well to confinement.

In the furthest corner, the darkness pooled. A motionless figure bathed in its depths.

Behind Remus, the door clicked closed once more. Instinctively he glanced over his shoulder at the mass of heavy metal and sturdy locks that stood between him and departure. A cold chill ran its fingers the length of his spine.

No going back.

His scar itched painfully. He forced himself to relax.

He turned back to the cell. Two golden eyes gleamed in the darkness.

"Well, well, well," a voice drawled softly, slipping free of the shadows in a languorous roll. "Look who it is. Little cousin Remus has come to play."

_Relax. Breathe. Don't show fear_.

Slowly, carefully Remus stepped deeper into the cell, his feet moving across the stone, accompanied by only the sound of his slow, echoing footsteps. His eyes sought to pierce the darkness in which Kane lay enshrouded, but the feral had chosen his spot well – the shadows allowed for only a faint outline and hints of movement around the gaze of gold. Fighting against the fluttering war of butterflies in his stomach and the slow, alarming surge of familiar symptoms that marked the proximity of his maker, Remus halted about halfway down, a yard or so back from the bars and turned to meet the gleaming gaze with steely resolution.

"Why did you ask me here?" he said softly, his words dancing from the stone walls. "What do you want?"

A claw tipped hand flexed in the shadows. There was a flash of fanged smile.

"I didn't think you'd come, you know." There was an almost conversational note to Kane's lazy declaration. "Your father wouldn't have. But then, he's more of a coward than you."

Remus steeled his jaw against the casual insult to his father. He would not rise. If he had wanted to trade barbs, he would have stayed at Hogwarts and gone to see Severus Snape. All he wanted was for Kane to get to the point and allow him to leave.

"What do you _want_?" he repeated coldly.

Kane's low chuckle reverberated from the walls. "Perhaps I simply wanted a last moment with my _favourite_ cousin," he declared, his voice a swell of mordant sarcasm. "Perhaps I want to repent my dreadful sins to him and apologise with all my heart for ruining his life."

Remus set his face in stone at the mockery, his gaze unwavering.

"_What_ do you _want_?" he asked yet again.

This time Kane laughed outright. "My, my, dear cousin. Don't we have a one track mind?"

Cousin again. Remus bit back a sigh. Tonks and Moody had been right; it was obvious that Kane was well aware of the possibility that someone else was eavesdropping on their words. The feral was playing for an audience.

"If you are repeatedly mentioning our blood relationship in the hope of getting me in trouble with the Aurors," Remus stated softly. "Our listener already knows. So I suggest you stop wasting both of our time, and tell me why you asked me here. Unless of course, your intent was simply to get me arrested."

The golden orbs blinked. Another soft laugh shivered from the darkness.

"Braver when there's bars between us, aren't you?" he whispered mockingly. "Braver when you know I'm not going to finish what I started on your throat…" The clawed hand flexed once more. "Or your side." Teeth snapped in the shadows. "Braver when you think you're in control."

Remus bridled slightly but held his burning stare. "I _am_ in control."

"Really?" There was a taunting upturn to the feral's tone. "It didn't seem that way the last time we met. No fully human mind could have put up a fight like that, little cousin. You were _slipping_. You could taste the blood of those children in the air; I could see it in your eyes. You were one step away from turning around and taking your first taste of human fle…"

"But I _didn't_." Remus cut sharply across his words, slicing away any further vindictive descriptions; he hesitated a moment, fighting down memories of bloodlust, of raw instinct, of the cold desire to kill. Willpower forced the chilling recollections away. He'd held it off. That was what mattered.

"I was injured," he retorted abruptly. "I was ill. My potion that month had been weaker than usual. But I _didn't turn_. So you can't say that I…"

"You would have." It was Kane's turn to interrupt, an easy drawl that laid itself over whatever words had lingered on the lips of Remus and smothered them utterly. "Three times now I've seen you get so close fulfilling yourself, to allowing your true self to emerge, and I'm willing to bet that those three times aren't the only times it's happened. You're not as self-righteously human as you pretend to be, little Lupin, and both of us know it. You've been on the verge for as long as I've known you and all you've ever needed is the right kind of push to step across the line…"

"So that's it?" Suddenly the truth was sharpening into focus, the reality that had driven Kane's request – a desire for one last chance to fulfil the original intent on the life-changing night in the woods. Remus shook his head disbelievingly as he stared the shadowy figure enshrouded in the darkness of his cell. "_That's_ why you dragged me all the way down here? To have one last go at turning me?" He could not suppress the incredulous little laugh that slipped from his lips. "_Good luck_."

The wolfish eyes gleaming in the darkness narrowed sharply. "I didn't _drag_ you anywhere," Kane drawled softly; whilst his lazy tone did not falter, an abrupt and oddly confident edge was running the length of his words. "You didn't _have _to come. It was your choice, not mine. And we both know that you're not the gloating type. No." Yellow eyes glowed suddenly, filled with the relish of a challenge. "You came because you _wanted_ to. Because deep down inside, you're intrigued by me, by what I am and the freedom and truth that you secretly yearn for embodied here before you. Consciously or not, you want to be me. And _that's _why you're here."

Shivers raced the length of his spine; Remus drew a sharp breath.

"That's not true," he said softly, but the vibration that had reached his voice defied the words.

"Isn't it?" The taunting tone redoubled; Kane had not missed the shakiness. "Tell me you didn't savour every taste of my world. Tell me it doesn't intrigue you."

_Intrigue_… Did it intrigue him? Did he not wonder how it would feel if that whisper of power that haunted the edges of his consciousness were to surge to the fore once and for all? Did he not…

_No. Don't think like that. That's what he wants_.

Remus hardened his voice determinedly. "It doesn't intrigue me," he retorted, the trembled abruptly squashed. "It makes me feel sick."

"Liar." The word echoed back and forth against the stone walls mockingly. "You want to be like me. You came here because you want my help to fulfil that."

Remus could feel control of the conversation slipping from his grasp – he fought to reign in his confused emotions.

_Don't let him get to you. He can't change who you are just with words unless you let him._

"So you want to help me?" The younger werewolf fought to maintain a level tone of voice, but considering his inner turmoil, he succeeded admirably. "I find that a little hard to believe."

"Remus, Remus, Remus." Kane's head was shaking softly in the darkness, a smeared movement washed over with shades of grey and black. "I've _always_ wanted to help you, don't you see? I offered you liberation from weakness and bad genes when you were three years old. I'm not sure quite why or how you managed to reject that but I suspect daddy dearest may just have interfered." His eyes glinted. "I gave you a gift that night, the gift my poor Hel gave me, and you lost the opportunity to embrace it. All I want to do is give you one last chance to learn to enjoy it properly. Before it's too late…"

_Really_… A bitter laugh slipped from Remus' lips "This is what you want with me, isn't it?" he said, his voice sharpening suddenly as his stubbornness kicked in. "Even now. You want me to be your replacement. A parting shot to the world."

"You see things in such simple terms." Kane's words bounced gently back and forth through the musty air of the cell, intense and vaguely curious as he shifted his shadowed position to a crouch. "How can you be so naïve? You cling so _desperately_ to this _feeble mockery _of humanity, this sham façade that you are in some way like them, striving for their acceptance and fawning over weak, pathetic beings who would reject you without a second thought. _Why?_ Why do you struggle so to be one of them? You could be _stronger_, _better,_ more _powerful _than they could ever _dream_ of, but what do you do? You allow the potential of your body and your mind to waste away with sickness and ill health in a battle you cannot and should not try to win. And you know deep inside that you're wrong."

Remus said nothing. He couldn't. Kane's astonishing tirade had left him speechless.

Encouraged by his silence, Kane's smile spread.

"You've tasted what you could be." The feral's voice low and sharp. "You've felt the glory of the wolf run through your veins. And yet you fight it. You fight it because you hear your parents' voices whispering poison in your ears. They foisted their hatred of our kind on you, their weak beliefs and their need for their child to be exactly what _they _wanted, and what did it get you? A sickly body and a lost soul, ill, weak, shunned and alone. You allowed yourself to be moulded by them, trapped and caged inside your own existence, denying yourself what you really need, what really _are_. But now you want _more_."

Slowly, lazily, the shadowed limbs uncurled, the clawed hands stretched and the body flexed down its length as Abraham Kane drew himself casually upright. For a moment longer he lingered in the concealing shadows before stepping forward softly into the flickering ball of light to stare intensely at his cousin. He smiled.

"Go on," he whispered, his lip curling. "Try and deny it."

But Remus still could not speak. But this time it was not Kane's words that silenced him. It was the sight of him.

For the creature before him was not the wild and powerful figure that had slammed him against a Hogsmeade wall or flung him across The Howling.

Abraham Kane was a wreck.

He should have realised of course, by the state of the walls, that self-inflicted damage had been done, and that the shattered bowl implied that Kane was perhaps rather less than keen on his prison rations. And of course he had been severely wounded by the impact of Neville's chandelier, wounds that whether though fear, his own refusal or just plain negligence had clearly not been treated by his wardens. But yet, still, Remus had not expected the wasted, damaged figure stood before him. A fortnight of little, if any food had left his stubbled cheeks hollowed and his tanned skin pale, his frame far leaner and more gaunt that Remus remembered from their past encounters. He had been clothed in rough robes by his captors, although these were now ragged, bloodied and torn, exposing patches of raw, scratched skin, trickles of dried blood, the deep purples and sickly yellows of bruises old and new, and deep, agonising cuts turned the vile shade that strongly implied an infection. Though his gaze was strong and his movements fluid, it was obvious that Abraham Kane was holding himself together by nothing more than the sheer force of his own will.

And this was what Kane expected him to aspire to?

A surge of shocked conviction ran through him, erasing the shakiness and odd feelings that the feral's immediate presence caused. Kane's words echoed within his mind, insidious mockery, taunting him, insulting him and his family and yet strangely pleading all the same. And it was _lies_. Kane did not know him. He did not see the thoughts that moved through his mind. And yet he claimed to stand there and predict the desires of his cousin better than Remus could himself?

No.

Perhaps he would never be accepted by the community at large. Perhaps those still fully human would never understand the struggle he had fought through all his life simply to have what they took for granted, simply to be allowed the right to live as the species he was born. But he would be _damned_ if he was going to stop fighting. He had been _born_ a human being and he was determined to _die _one.

He did not want to be feral. He had too much to lose.

"What did it get me?" His voice was a whisper but it seemed to carry throughout the cell with a kind of determined strength that instantly wiped the smirk from Abraham Kane's lips. "That's an interesting question. What did I get from the unwavering love and care that my parents have given me all my life? What did I get from trying to stay human? There are times, perhaps, in the past, when I wouldn't have been able to tell you." He gently shook his head. "But this…This isn't one of them."

He took a single step towards the bars and the hagged figure trapped behind them, wrapping himself in the protective comfort of everything good that he had ever known. Flashes of his parents filled his mind, his mother's warm, soft embrace, his father's crooked smile, the four Marauders plotting mischief in their dormitory, James and Lily beaming as they took their wedding vows, a young Sirius laughing as he mounted his flying motorcycle, the determination on Harry's face as he handed over the petition and the joy as his Patronus glowed, the smiles of his students, Tonks' wicked grin as she bade him good night from her broomstick, the awe of the Weasley twins, the banter with his friends in the Order and Dumbledore's twinkling eyes as he informed him categorically that no resignation would be accepted. And all that, he could have lost. All that Kane wanted him to sacrifice.

How could he have ever doubted?

"Being human." The words echoed with quiet conviction. "It got me a family I love and memories I treasure. It got me good friends, true friends, both those of my childhood now lost and those of my adulthood gained. It got me a position of trust in one of the finest wizarding schools in the world and students who respect me enough to fight to keep me as their teacher. And yes, my health could be better and there are times when I am shunned and rejected because of what I am. But I have people I can turn to for comfort, to have fun, to make me feel as though my life is worth something, as though some good comes of my being around. What did trying to be human get me? It got me a _life_."

Kane was staring at him, a furious glow lighting his golden eyes but Remus simply smiled, a soft expression lined with utter steel.

"I don't regret having that life," he said quietly. "But I can't help but wonder if you regret that you did not." The smile dropped away as more bitter memories surged, recollections of moon-washed woods, overwhelming pain and hundreds of nights filled with purest agony caused solely by the creature imprisoned before him.

He shook his head. "But what has being a feral got you, _Abel_?" He ignored the angry snap at the mention of Kane's hated birth name. "What do you have to offer that can trump the life I have?" His eyes hardened. "A battered body, a lonely prison cell and a soul so ruined it'll surprise me if the Dementor doesn't _choke_ on it. Not much of an incentive."

A low growl slipped through the portcullis of Kane's clenched teeth. "Are you _pitying_ me?" he snarled furiously. "You _dare_…"

"You made me an offer." Once again Remus cut off the feral's words, his voice cool and determined, but bristling with an echoing menace that embodied the wellspring of anger and fury that swelled within him when he remembered the anguish the feral had caused in his family. "I'm considering it. I'm weighing my options, balancing the aspects of my life against the prospects of yours. And I see a chance to be locked away in the bowels of the earth, awaiting the day that my soul will be sucked from my body, in the knowledge that the only person even remotely interested in coming to see me is the one whose life I have repeatedly tried to ruin." He met the golden eyes of Kane with sudden fierceness. "Forgive me if I feel no choice but to decline."

"Declining is not a choice!" Kane's voice was almost a hiss, the self-assured ease lost to furious frustration in an instant – the sudden clenching of his fists drove the claws of his own fingertips deep into his palms as he hunched into a defensive crouch. "The wolf is waiting; you cannot refuse it forever! Someday, someday it will find you, it will claim you and then you will wish you had not wasted so much precious time! It will happen! It is inevitable! It is stronger than you will ever be!"

Remus watched his rage impassively through the bars, watched the drip of fresh blood as it trickled from the battered feral's hands and splattered to the ground. Staring at the werewolf's impotent anger, his helpless, captive rage, his mind flickered through the catalogue of the feral's crimes, of the lives he had stolen, the distress he had mustered, the tribulations he had wrought. An odd kind of emotion swelled within him; it was not the cold fury of his father's revelations, the burning rage of The Howling or the strange dread of Hogwarts. Anger was a part of it, but it did not rule the sensation. Disdain crawled within it, but it did not sneer. Regret from the mistakes made in his family's past – oh that whispered in the corners of his mind but did not raise its voice. Resentment and a shadowed hint of satisfaction at seeing the killer of his mother brought so low gave a sickly edge to the feeling. Sorrow lingered, sadness for the lost and for the wasted time, the wasted lives that this vendetta had wrought. Shame and pity danced together for a story completed in this foul cell with so much lost and so little to be gained. And an odd kind of curiosity touched its edges, whispering frantically _why_….

It was a nameless blend of emotion, but its potency was shocking.

But Remus knew that Kane could not feel it. So much passing, so much death and destruction but he had learned nothing from it. He truly was lost to the wolf.

Or was he?

Remus had come here for closure, to resolve a long and painful chapter in his life. That was his purpose, not some sick and twisted desire to follow in his maker's footsteps as Kane had wished him to believe. He had wanted this business put finally and irrevocably behind him.

And yet…

And yet, there _was _something about the feral that fascinated him. In that sense, Kane had struck a nerve.

For almost all his life, Remus had shared his mind and body with his werewolf half. Once a month, and occasionally, he was forced to admit, at other times, he had fought within himself a battle – a battle for the rights over his own body, his own mind, his own sense of identity and being. And much as he disliked his vicious other half, he would be lying if he said it did not intrigue him too. To understand the drive of the wolf was an illusive and impossible prize.

But here was a being that _was _the wolf, a wolf that could speak its mind. It was the closest that Remus would ever come to talking with that hidden part of himself.

He had no desire to be like Kane. But a part of him desperately wanted to _understand _him. Just how much of what he saw before him was wolf? What was left of that long ago boy, if anything at all? Where did the maliciousness comes from – mindless wolfish anger or the sting of human bitterness, an angry child's sense of betrayal? Was the vindictive cruelty, the grim playfulness, a trait born of a human or animal mind?

And it had always been there, that almost desperate drive to turn him, that powerful desire to make Remus as he was. Even now, locked away in lonely prison cell, he still tried one last time to draw the younger wolf into his world. But why?

"Wolf got your tongue?" Kane's sharp and mocking voice cut unpleasantly into the silence. Remus grimaced. Understanding Kane didn't mean he had to _like_ him.

"Why are you so desperate to turn me?" The words escaped, quiet but crystal clear, the question asked almost before the brain had quite fathomed it. "Why do you need me to be like you so much? Are you that anxious for revenge? Do you want me to continue your legacy somehow?" His sudden surge of curiosity took control of his words, hardening his voice as he moved into dangerous territory. "Or do you simply feel the need to have someone around who actually _wants _your company? Do you miss having someone, however foully, that you can relate to?" He met the feral's eyes as they flared in fury at the implication and knew at once that it was his turn to strike a nerve. Now it was time to strike the rest.

"Are you _lonely_, Abel?" The question echoed poignantly. "Is some part of that lost and rejected little boy of forty years ago still struggling to get out?"

Kane's roar of fury shook the very bedrock beyond the walls, the bars shuddering in frantic shock as he slammed against them, bloody hands reaching and grasping through the bars as claws slashed the air, guided by eyes that gleamed with blazing anger. Remus stumbled back, surprised and slightly awed by the vehemence of Kane's reaction as he stared as the raging feral that helplessly fought with his cage.

_Definite nerve strike, I think_.

"You have _no right_!" The words lashed bitterly against the air, cutting raw strips from it by the sheer weight of furious emotion. "No right to question me! Your family _destroyed _me, ruined my life twice over! Before I was even born, they turned on me and rejected me out of hand! Your father's cowardice left me to rot! And then, insult to injury, your father's hand took the one person who gave me acceptance, who showed me the true way! All I have ever done is repay their favours in kind! They owe me! You owe me! Owe me for…"

"A life and a lifetime!" The sudden anger that overwhelmed Remus flooded through his interruption, a parade of battered and broken lives over such a pointless mantra weaving tangled before his minds eye as he sliced the raging words away with the potency of a knife blade. "Of course! The great debt of your tragic life!"

Shaking his head, Remus turned away. Burning fury was racing the length of his body and Remus knew all too well how dangerous such rage could prove. In an effort to channel it, he turned sharply on his heel, striding the length of the cell and back as he forced the energy of his anger into exercise.

But it could not stem his words, words that flared too strong to deny the urge to say them, parallels that yearned to be drawn. "Well, I know all about lives and lifetimes – you taught me well," he proclaimed coldly. "You say I owe you because my family rejected you, because of the lifetime you lost and life that was taken." Sharply, he wheeled on the cage once more, and the werewolf trapped within it. "Well, what of the life and the lifetime you owe me? A life for a life – _my mother._ A lifetime for a lifetime – _myself._ So don't you dare try and take the moral high ground with me because you haven't a leg to stand on."

The feral growled. "It is not the _same_…"

"Really?" Remus laughed humourlessly. "You are the great believer in justice, are you not? Well, if that is truly how you wish to weigh and measure this whole sorry business, then I would say that any debt that I or my father may have remotely owed you was cancelled the day you _pushed my mother_ out that _window_."

Kane was breathing raggedly, his eyes ablaze as he tore strips of paint from the bars with his claws. "It _cannot _compare…"

"_Can't_ it?" The feral's indignant self-pity was starting to grate deeply on Remus' nerves. "So you had a hard life, a difficult childhood. And for this you decide to devote your life to ruining as many other lives as you can? For the distant wrongs of the past, you justify your crimes in the present!"

Abruptly, he was still, his pacing sharply stopped. Lowering his voice to a bare murmur, he stared intensely at the feral. "Well let me tell you about another little boy. A boy who from the age of three endured searing agonies once a month, who was kept away from other people, other children, for fear of what they might do if they knew the truth of what he was. A little boy who grew to watch almost all that he held dear in the world ripped away from him by a vindictive madman and his cronies and a stranger obsessed with vengeance for crimes he never even knew. A stranger who then did his level best to destroy his life even more than he had done already." He paused, allowing the silence to frame his words with soft poignancy. "And I haven't gone on a killing spree yet."

"More's the pity!" Kane snapped his teeth at the air. "Perhaps you would do well to remember that the family that so spoiled you _rejected_ me!"

"You were offered a family!" Remus retorted sharply. "But you abandoned your foster parents before you'd even given them a chance! Instead you turned to a _monster_ for salvation."

Claws against iron screeched painfully as Kane roared his fury. "I _had no choice_! Your father left me _no choice_!"

"You had _every _choice!" Remus lashed back. "You could have been yourself but you couldn't stand to face it. Even youth cannot excuse such a shocking lapse of judgement."

"Hel made me strong!"

Remus gave a disdainful laugh. "She made a _werewolf _strong. What you once were, what you could have been, she utterly destroyed. All that remains is the wolf fuelled remnants of the bitterness and the pain."

Kane's lip was curling as a growl slipped through his gritted teeth. "There were all _weak_," he snarled, his voice low. "My father, your father, my mother, your mother. Why would I want to be like them? They _ruined_ you, your parents. Filling your mind with their weak, sickly ideals…"

"Weak, sickly ideals that you seem remarkably bitter to have been denied," Remus retorted coolly. "You reject them so vehemently but yet their loss is the basis of your revenge." His smile was utterly devoid of humour. "Welcome to the wonderfully human world of _hypocrisy_."

Kane drew slowly back from the bars, but his golden eyes were now burning cold. "They'll never accept you," he repeated softly. "All those pathetic, frightened humans out there and their snivelling children in your classrooms. They've seen the truth of what you are. They'll watch you now. Why do you yearn for their rejection?"

"The same reason you do." Remus met the gaze without flinching. "Only I handle it differently. Unlike you, I have no intention of proving the prejudice right."

The fire ignited once more behind Kane's eyes. "I don't need _them_. I don't need _anyone_."

"So why did you ally yourself with Voldemort?" It was oddly refreshing that Kane did not so much as flinch at the use of the dreaded name. "I know you cared nothing for his cause. You could have carried on killing quite happily without him."

Kane chuckled softly, his grin a bearing of teeth. "It was a way back into my darling homeland," he drawled with a smirk. "And it was something to do. Kill one child. Not much of a challenge, but it sounded like fun."

"To kill a child you didn't even know." Kane simply laughed at Remus' quiet statement. "To kill all those children. Even the children of your new allies. Surely you knew that would anger them."

Kane gave a dismissive snort. "I didn't need their interference. I told them from the start I owed them no allegiance – to warn them would have been to spoil my fun. Why should I care for their weakly little whelps? Meat is meat."

Remus fought back a surge of disgust. "It must be a little galling that it was _weakly little whelps _who then thwarted you."

"It must be a little galling that they _saved_ you," Kane shot back at once. "The mighty werewolf wizard Lupin rescued by a gaggle of school children. And lucky for you." His eyes glinted. "In a straight, fair fight, wolf against wolf, you wouldn't have stood a _chance_. You had to be bailed out by your pet _brats_."

Remus paused. A slow, dawning realisation edged its way across his mind, sparking a flash of clarity that flung away the Kane woven cobwebs and presented the truth of their situations before him with a startling clearness.

He saw Kane.

He saw himself.

And he _understood_.

Quietly, he smiled.

"I think you've missed the point," he said softly.

Kane stared, golden eyes blinking. "_I've_ missed the point?" he exclaimed incredulously. "What is there is to _miss_, Lupin? I sliced your _belly_ open. If that brat child hadn't interfered, I would have ripped out your throat with my _teeth_ and _swallowed_ it. I _beat_ you."

"And yet I stand free and you languish behind bars." Remus' quiet smile seemed to agitate the feral far more than his earlier anger. "A rather strange victory, I think." His expression hardened. "Or perhaps not a victory at all."

Kane gave a snort. "See how you struggle to justify yourself. You lost the fight. _Face _it."

Remus gave an easy shrug. "I've faced it. I lost the fight. But I don't much care. Because I seem to have won the _war_."

Kane's indrawn breath scraped a growl across his teeth. "You did _nothing_! That _child_…"

"That _young man_ acted as he did because he remembered a flippant remark I made in a lesson before I even remembered your part in my life." Remus drew himself up, drinking in the sudden confidence of his realisation before the battered, waning form of Abraham Kane. "Because if you believe that this all came down to some scrappy dogfight, werewolf against werewolf then I say again – you've missed the point. The difference between victory and defeat, between me standing here and you locked in there – it didn't come down who had the stronger claws or the faster teeth. It was a _joke_ I made in class. It was knowledge I taught as a teacher to a student in my –as you would have it – _wasted_ life as a professor. They didn't waste time attacking you with magic because I taught them not to. And in a moment of human silliness, a moment I had forgotten but that one student clearly didn't, I unknowingly planted the inspiration that brought you down. In my _feeble mockery_ of humanity, I gave a class full of students the knowledge to stop an apparently all-powerful feral and the desire to risk their lives for mine. And all because I just didn't give in."

He met Kane's eyes but this time it was his gaze that gleamed, not with gold, but with determination. "Unlike _you_."

"_What?_" Kane's harsh exhalation was barely more than rippled breath.

"You heard." Uncaring of the danger, Remus stepped closer to the bars yet again. "You claim that the wolf is strength, that without it you can only be weak. And physically, that is undeniable. But mentally…" He shook his head. "Mentally, to willingly submit to the wolf, to give up the fight for your own mind, your own being to a vicious monster who knows and cares nothing for you or your humanity… To me that is the _ultimate _weakness. You can crow and strut all you want, Kane, you can hurl empty words and threats from your dark corner behind bars. But it doesn't change the fact that I defeated you and I did it without ever stooping down to your level. You are here now because for the thirty years since you tried to strip it from me, I have held on to my humanity." He stared coldly through the bars. "And perhaps by turning feral, I could have won that fight. Perhaps I could have even killed you. But it would have meant _nothing_ to me, if there even was a _me _left to feel. Because if I'd have allowed myself to give a mere inch to my wolf, it would have meant that _you _hadtriumphed."

"You're a _coward_." Kane's words hissed like acid against stone, a low voiced flood of words that shimmered with undefined emotion. "Hiding behind your excuses, terrified to face your wolf and the truth of your existence!" He gave a disdainful snarl. "I _hate _cowards."

Slowly, gently, Remus once more stepped back from the bars. He stared at the damaged wreck crouched and caged before him, his words, words that had once cut so deep, that were now the last desperate flailings of a condemned feral that flicked over his skin without wounding. The unnamed emotion that had ruled his thoughts throughout his attacks surged its way into his words.

This was the end. And whether he could accept it or not, it was Kane's turn to understand.

"I'm not the coward, not in this at least." Remus softly shook his head, his eyes filled brimful with ambiguous feelings of anger, sadness and pity. "I've been fighting a battle all my life, a battle within myself. And yes I've lost a couple of brief skirmishes over the years, but never in a way that matters. But you…" He sighed. "You lost your war before it even started. You opened the gates and let the enemy inside. You gave up, Abel. You threw your humanity away on a moment's whim because you were too afraid to live your life yourself, to _be_ yourself. And that's why you asked me here today. Because you _need_ me."

Harsh breaths tore at the air as Kane sank deeper into his defensive crouch, half-kneeling in the wreckage of his own fruitless temper, his hands blood-stained, his robes tattered to ribbons and his yellow eyes strangely dull.

"I need _no one_," he breathed in a furious whisper.

"Yes, you do." Remus could feel the deathly shift in atmosphere as he finally and irrevocably took control of the conversation and he pulled that sense around him, a cloak of strength to breath well-deserved words that were nonetheless harsher than he was usually wont to utter. "Me and my family, the great wrong done to your human self – why do you care about the feelings of a weak, confused child that you claim you put long behind you? I know why. Because in hating us, bitter, tainted hate, _human_ hate, not the pure indiscriminate rage of a full moon werewolf, you could cling to the only tiny corner of humanity you had left. Without us, you have nothing left to be human about. And you didn't want to be the _only _one who _lost_."

Kane's low, deep-throated growling hummed through the air, a terrible, primal sound that whispered bad memories against the back of Remus' mind. He forced them determinedly away. He could not allow himself to weaken now. These were words that had yearned for airing for over thirty years and he was the only one left who would truly be able to say them before the chance was lost to the touch of the Dementor's Kiss.

"I understand now," he continued, his voice laced with steel. "I know why you have been so desperate to turn me, to make me like you. It was because _you knew_. You knew, deep down, that I was still fighting against what you had long ago submitted to. You hid behind the wolf in the same way that your father hid behind alcohol and a noose. And you couldn't stand to be like him could you? You couldn't stand to be the one who'd given in, just as he had. And more." He breathed in deeply, tasting the musty mould of the cell, the stale scent of sweat and blood and the stench of animal fury. "You didn't want to be the only one who'd _lost _that fight any more. So you kidnapped a child that were sure would never have the strength to defy it. For someone else to fall victim would prove once and for all that it wasn't a weakness in _you_."

Kane's stance has reverted to wolfish instinct, tensed limbs that dug, muscles wrenched tight, into the floor, teeth gleaming and bared and clawed fingers flexing. His low growls continued to reverberate against his visitor's utter lack of intimidation.

For Remus simply stared.

"You couldn't stand to be the coward," he said softly. "Because you hate cowards – don't you?"

"NO!"

This time Remus did not even flinch as Kane hurtled furiously into the bars, regarding the claws that slashed inches from his face with a quietly determined conviction.

"_Your_ family ruined my life! _Yours_!" Spittle and blood flew repulsively from the feral's lips, his own sharp canines tearing into the inside of his mouth as he bellowed out his fury. "I am _powerful_, I am _strong_! I am _feared b_y all! You are _nothing_ next to me!"

"I don't want your kind of strength." Remus' words, though quieter, nonetheless hurled the raging feral into silence. Kane abruptly slumped against the bars, clawed hands grasping at the uprights in a mixture of frustration and the need for support as his battered body disproved his claims of physical prowess. His face, battered and damaged, stared breathless and resentful at the composed figure who stood unarmed and infuriatingly out of his reach. His golden eyes had faded to a dull, exhausted yellow.

And Remus met those eyes. His jaw was set, his shoulders tense but firm as he embraced the final sweep of his confused jumble of conflicting feelings and launched his final salvo at his clearly sinking foe.

"You asked earlier if I pitied you. Well, I do. I pity what gave up that night that you willingly placed your arm into a werewolf's mouth. I pity the life you never had and the person you could have been. But I'm not _afraid _of you."

"Then you're a _fool_," Kane gasped out.

Remus let a small, bitter laugh slip free. "I'm not. I have no reason to fear you, not now."

"You're brave behind bars…"

"Bars have nothing to do with it." Remus bored into the golden eyes. "Because I understand you now. And I feel sorry for you. But you abandoned all hope of redemption a long time ago, Abel, and now you are to pay for that. And in a week's time, _you_ are the one who will be nothing."

"All _fear_ me…"

"_Dementors_ don't. And when the Dementor has passed, the shell with the strength of your body will be all that is left to you."

Kane was shaking with impotent rage. "They will _never_ forget me! _You _will never forget!"

Remus regarded him slowly. "Now there you may be right. But not perhaps in the way that you might wish."

He paused a moment. Paused to stare one last time at the battered, broken form of the feral that had impacted so much upon his life. Paused to drink in this final image, an image of exhaustion, of injury, of pointless anger and lost chances encapsulated within a creature that had taken his childhood, his health and his mother but had failed to steal away the truth of who he was. Abraham Kane, Abel Isaacs; whichever name was chosen, this fallen cousin, this ravaged wreck, had shaped and formed the aspects of his life and the person those aspects had wrought him into.

Golden eyes regarded him with resentful hatred. He faced their glare and spoke his final words.

"My life is your legacy, Abel Isaacs. So _congratulations_. I wouldn't be the man I am today if not for you."

And then he turned and walked away.

And Kane screamed.

Screamed and roared and howled in fury. Remus could hear the devastation of his ferocious fury, the pure essence of the werewolf rage that would turn upon the self in its mindless destruction. He could hear the ripping of cloth, the screeching of claws against metal and stone and the dull tearing swipe of slashed skin; he could hear Kane as he raged and bellowed, screaming his desperate phrases, his hatred of the Lupins, the ruining of his life, Hel, his strength, his power and a life for a lifetime.

But Remus did not turn.

He reached the door and knocked.

The lock clicked rapidly. Kingsley's face appeared instantly around the edge, his eyes wide as he stared with a kind of awe at the departing form of his fellow Order member before glancing over Remus' shoulder to take in the awesome spectacle that was the ball of howling rage embodied in the feral Kane.

But Remus did not turn.

Sweeping past the Auror, he moved with straight-backed dignity into the corridor beyond. Kane's cries echoed and crashed against the walls, haunting his steps as he walked.

But Remus did not turn.

"Kingsley," he said softly. "Close the door."

There was a thud. A click. The cries were cut sharply into nothingness.

And all was silent.

And Remus did not turn.

Staring straight ahead, he moved wordlessly towards the door that would lead back outside and left Abraham Kane behind him.

And he did not look back.

**A/N**: This is the longest chapter thus far of the fic (although the next and final one has overtaken it, though with somewhat less difficulty in the writing) and one that gave me the most trouble, even over chapter 19. Although I had the themes well outlined in my head and knew where I wanted the chapter to end up, I had a great deal of difficulty articulating exactly what Remus was supposed to be feeling during the course of this chapter. I experimented from a Remus of total calm to total anger, to confusion, to fear, to boldness but nothing seemed to sit quite right. In the end I settled upon this strange variation of a cocktail of emotions that I hope very much works all right. It was always my intention, from the beginning of that writing of this fic, that Remus' decisive defeat of Kane would come in this chapter, that his moment would not be a triumph in a physical fight (which was Kane's domain) but a psychological and emotional victory. I really hope I have managed to convey that in the manner I wanted whilst at the same time not making Remus either too gloating or too weak. It was a difficult balance to strike and it is up to you all to decide if I have succeeded. :)

**Reviewer Responses**:

**Curls of Serenity** – Did that do:) Reynard's brother Rolphe has been mentioned before but trust me, he is not remotely a friend of Kane's. You'll hear a little more about him before the end of this fic and much more if I ever write the sequel.

**bookworm-jill** – The sequel is up in the air at the moment. I want to write it but I simply don't have the time. I will if I can but I doubt it'll be soon. -strokes Remus comfortingly- If it helps, I'm writing a nice little fluffy fic for you as recompense…;)

**The Thief Kuronue** – How was that for a chat with a feral? And Oi! You can't nick Remus yet, I'm not done with him;)

**aurelie1** – I think Remus does need to close this chapter in his life and sort his doubts out. Which is kind of what this chapter was for. :)

**animaluvr1 **– I would love to write more fic if only I had the time to. I'm writing a short piece at the moment just to keep my hand in and if I can ever find the time, I will have a go at a sequel. But don't expect anything too soon….

**Dark Draconain** – Thank you very much:) As for the long lull – I am aware it got stretched out a bit! Believe it or not chapter 32-39 were all originally intended to be one chapter but it just kept going and going and the need to post something whilst it grew longer and longer meant I just split it up as I went along! The length of the lull was entirely accidental, I'm afraid – it just happened that way as I wrote. :)

**Howling Wolf 22** – It turned out to be a conversation worth dreading….;)

**JennyJoy4** – I wanted the password to be an in-joke. :) And I love mythology, I find it fascinating, I always have. You might have noticed my penchant for sticking random characters with mythological names;)

**me** – For when you get this far – thank you! And yes, that was the parallel I was going for. :)

**Jello** – Awww…Thank you:) I did blink about when you said Thursday though! So what part of the world are you in:)

The very last part –sniffle- will be posted on Saturday. It's almost over…..-wah;)


	42. Full Circle Epilogue

_42: Full Circle (Epilogue)_

The implementation of the punishment of Abraham Kane by means of the Dementor's Kiss was scheduled to take place on the second Sunday of December in the Ministry of Magic's Courtroom Ten at three pm precisely. A selection of dignitaries ranging from important Ministry personages, prominent public figures, esteemed members of the Press and Aurors involved in the case, as well the survivors and relatives of any persons unfortunate enough to fall victim to the feral's wide range of crimes were all invited to attend.

Remus Lupin had politely declined.

Reynard Lupin did not reply at all.

-

The late November cold snap had settled into mid December with a kind of frosty glee, sprinkling the mountainous regions of the British Isles with liberal helpings of snowy showers and spreading blankets of whiteness. Icicles hung dripping from tree branches and the eaves of buildings, shrinking by day beneath the tempered onslaught of the low and weakly sun, before stretching out once more within the chill coolness of the nighttime freeze. Snow concealed the ground, not melting, unyielding before the waning winter light, freshened every so often by a passing squall of board-rag clouds and spitting white. Trees stretched their leafless limbs towards the sky, shrouded in gentle coats of whiteness that stroked away the stark, grim outline of their midwinter skeletons, warmed against the icy sting of bitterly cold air.

Mid-Wales, Remus decided, was slightly less bracingly icy than the Scottish mountains at Hogwarts had proved when he had walked across the grounds to the limit of the school's anti-apparation wards. But the difference was distinctly marginal.

Shaking off the momentary disorientation of his lengthy apparation, Remus dusted the remnants of a Scottish snow flurry from his warmest cloak and stepped with a no less snowy crunch over to the creaky iron gate that led from the head of the rough track that ceased at the edge of the woods into the snow-covered grassy meadow that led to the white-blanketed, hunched shape that was the cottage at Winter Hollow. Two inviting curls of smoke drifted out into the icy air from the bookend-like twin chimneys of his childhood home.

A spiteful bite of wind slapped sharply against his skin, causing an instinctive wince. Remus supposed he could have apparated directly into the almost certain warmth of the living room with its roaring fire, but it had long been considered bad manners amongst wizarding folk to apparate directly into another's house, even when expected, on the off chance that they should be caught at an inconvenient moment; not to mention that apparating directly from the freezing cold into the warmth of indoors would have caused a nasty shock to his system. And of course, he could have walked down into Hogsmeade and taken the floo from the Three Broomsticks but by his own reckoning, that walk would have involved longer in the bitter cold and besides; ever since childhood, Remus had never been floo powder's keenest fan. One floo journey was already in the offing today and that one was quite enough.

And this was Winter Hollow. Coming home deserved a proper entrance.

And home it would always be. Remus smiled fondly at the gate's familiar shriek as he pushed it closed once more and set out across the meadow to the rhythmic crunch of footsteps against snow. Surroundings so familiar that they felt like a part of his blood assailed him from every turn – the frozen creek with its icy stepping stones, the tall sycamore on the edge of the woods that he had climbed a thousand times or more, the old well with its recalcitrant grindylow family and the battered old lean-to hunkered against the side of the house, spinning forth its well known chorus of strange and alarming noises. Memories flooded from all directions, childhood games of Hide and Seek, of Catch the Puffskein, his mother calling him inside after a make believe adventure, and later, the frantic snowball fights with his three good friends, broomstick-back gamesmanship that he and Peter inevitably lost and prank-filled explorations of the forests and mountains around.

Quickly up the two front steps and he was there at the familiar red front door. Remus hesitated, finger hovering by the little golden bell before he abruptly plunged into his layers of clothing to find whatever well-buried pocket he had thoughtlessly placed his house key in. To ring the bell felt oddly wrong, as though he was a visitor here, an attitude for which his father had roundly scolded him in the past. And he had been right. Winter Hollow was his home, his haven in dark times, a place to wrap himself in happy memories that remained undimmed by recent taints. Wherever he had chosen to live in the world over the years, not even Hogwarts held the same place in his heart as this cottage that would always be engraved by the word home within his mind. He had always returned here. He had rested and recovered within these walls after the events of the Halloween of 1981. He had come back again after his forced first resignation from Hogwarts. And now, for this day, at midday on this second Sunday of December, he was coming home again.

Finally the key emerged, escaping unscathed from a roiling mass of clothing. Re-adjusting his robes with as much dignity as he could muster, Remus inserted the key into the lock and pushed open the door.

Warmth struck him in a shocking rush as it fled abruptly past him into the icy outdoors. His face flushed, and suddenly feeling well overdressed, Remus stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

He was in the midst of unravelling the long and complicated scarf that Molly Weasley had generously forwarded to him via Ron and Ginny a few days before when, with the familiar tap of cane on floor, Reynard appeared in the kitchen doorway. He regarded his son's predicament with a wry smile.

"Let me guess," he said with a chuckle. "Another Molly Prewett special?"

Remus fingered the ever-growing tangle of colourful knitted loops with a smile. "It's Molly Weasley now, but yes. My friend Tonks rather impulsively mentioned to her that I'd been a little cold after walking down to Hogsmeade one evening and she took it upon herself to do something about it." He lifted a scarlet panel incredulously. "And I swear that this thing has gotten longer since I put it on."

Rey laughed outright. "Never get too close to a woman who can knit," he offered sagely. "You'll be drowning in knitwear within a month. Your mother never tried, bless her heart. That's one of the reasons I married her."

Remus raised an eyebrow from within his tangled nest of scarfishness. "You married mum because she couldn't knit?" He grinned. "And there, I thought it had something to do with some romantic nonsense like love."

"Now who gave you that foolish notion?" Grinning back, Rey took mercy on his struggling son and moved to offer his assistance. After a few moments of joint effort, Lupin manliness finally prevailed over the cobra-like knitwear. The scarf safely subdued, Remus peeled off his gloves and his substantial winter cloak and hung the heavy layers on the entrance hall's wall hooks. He rubbed his hands together, glancing into the living room at the unusually lively roaring fire beneath the large mantelpiece. Recent scorch marks had stained the stone at its back.

Turning back to his father, Remus smiled.

"So where are we flooing for lunch?" he asked cheerfully. "The Leaky Cauldron? Or that nice little wizarding pub near Rhayader we tried out last Easter?"

There was something vaguely unsettling about the smile on Reynard's face.

"Neither," he declared smugly. "We're staying _here_."

Remus blinked. "Have you ordered something? Or picked some food up? I noticed someone's been using the floo…"

"Of _course_ not!" With quite deliberate care, Reynard took a deep breath and sniffed the air. After a pause, he fixed his son with a beatific grin.

"I've _cooked_," he proclaimed proudly.

Remus stared. And after a moment, the drifting scent of sizzling roast potatoes and well-roasted beef did indeed register against his nostrils. And it smelt…appetising. It smelt _edible_.

A hint of amused suspicion began to sneak its way into the edges of Remus' mind. But he carefully bit his lip and opted to play along.

He adopted an incredulous stare. "I see no smoke," he stated in mock astonishment. "The walls seem to be standing. The smell in the air implies something might remain that is actual food." He glared sternly. "Who are you and what have you done with Reynard Lupin?"

His father fixed him with a dry stare. "Professor Lupin, the comedian of the Hogwarts faculty," he drawled with a half-smile. "Honestly, have you no respect for your elders?"

Remus chuckled. "Don't you remember what mum said after that time you used her chopping board to dissect that diseased kappa? Love comes unbidden, fondness blooms whether you like it or not, but respect you're going to have to _earn_."

Rey gave a fond smile. "Diana always did get verbose when she was annoyed. It always used to make me laugh."

Remus shared the happy memory. "And then she'd cuff you over the head and send you off to clean something. And then she'd spend an hour or two telling me that for my own good I was to try not to grow up as awkward as Daddy."

His father laughed out loud. "Typical. Undermined behind my back as usual." He jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen. "Now come and pull your weight, young man, and help me dish up."

"Yes _sir_."

Following Reynard into the kitchen, Remus knew at once that his suspicions had been correct. There was not a hint of the usual devastation that accompanied one of his father's typical forays into the wonderful world of culinary misadventure. Saucepans of various vegetables were lined up steaming on the counter, clearly the victims of a highly adept steaming spell. Boiled potatoes bubbled in a small cauldron of hot water over the fire with a flat plate of roast potatoes dangling next to them. And smoking appetisingly in a wide dish on the table, the joint of roast beef lingered, awaiting carvery.

Remus' eyes fixed upon the dish. His eyes narrowed.

"That's new," he commented blandly. "I wasn't aware we had any dishes with dancing toucans on the sides. Not really your taste though."

Reynard, who had been rather ineffectually poking at the saucepan of broccoli, froze. A look of unmistakable guilt flickered across his face.

At the shifty expression, Remus laughed outright. "Oh dad!" he chuckled fondly. "If you don't think I can tell the difference between one of Mrs Wenn's roasts and your usual disasters in the kitchen, there probably isn't much hope for you. Let me guess; you tried out cooking for yourself and set fire to something. Mrs Wenn caught you, you explained and she offered to do it instead. She brought some vegetables and a roast over in a dish a few hours ago and was cooking up a treat when you saw me coming out the kitchen window and bundled the poor woman down the floo. Am I right?"

Reynard's smile was rueful. "You can't blame a man for trying. And I did help her with it – boiling water, washing pans, chopping carrots, that kind of thing."

Remus shook his head with a grin. "And you still have all your fingers? Then it is, at least partly, your first culinary triumph. Now let's get this food served up before it turns into one of your regular disasters." He moved over to commandeer vegetable duty from his father, gently easing the older man into a part of the kitchen where he could do something more effective.

"I'll see to the vegetables if you carve the roast," he ordered briskly. Catching sight of the slightly subdued look on Rey's face, Remus blessed his father with a broad smile.

"Thanks for this dad," he said softly. "I couldn't imagine anything better for today than a quiet dinner at home."

Reynard smiled in return. "Neither could I."

-

The doors of the Ministry of Magic opened. One by one, the lifts started to descend.

Courtroom Ten began to fill.

-

With a satisfied groan, Remus deposited himself on the living room sofa, grinning at his father as he lowered gingerly into his chair beside the fire and released a sigh of contentment.

"Say what you will about Mrs Wenn," Rey began thoughtfully.

"And you always do."

Reynard pointedly ignored his son's interruption. "Yes, she may be patronising, and annoying and treats me like a child, but there is simply no denying that that woman knows how to cook a good roast dinner."

"Seconded." Remus laid his head back against the sofa cushion, staring absently at the ceiling. "And she can do it all without ever setting innocent saucepans on fire."

"I only did that _once_."

"I know. Because that was when mum finally and irrevocably banned you from her kitchen."

Remus could sense the mock resentful glare that burned in his direction more powerfully than the flames of the fire.

"You know, someday, when I'm gone," There was a note of pretend tremulousness running the length of Reynard's words. "You're going to regret that you spent so much of our precious time together making fun of your poor old dad."

Lowering his gaze, Remus returned his father's stare and cocked a thoughtful eyebrow. A hint of a smile played at the corners of his lips.

"I doubt it," he said cheerfully. "I consider it time well spent."

Rey snorted ungraciously. "Just my luck. Out of all the possible children your mother and I could have produced, I get landed with the one most likely to crack jokes about my cooking in my _eulogy_."

Remus laughed outright. "Honestly dad. Do you think I'd waste your eulogy with cooking anecdotes? I have _far _better stories than that! Besides…" His air of good cheer wavered slightly as his smile twisted slightly with dark irony. "Given the evidence of the last couple of months, it'd be a fair bet to say you'll be writing _my_ eulogy long before I have a chance to write yours."

"_Don't_ talk like that." Reynard's sharp retort cut into the air like a whiplash, wiping instantly away the last vestiges of the good humour of moments before. "You're not going to die, Remus, and that's the end of it."

Remus regarded his father's sudden seriousness with a gravity of his own. "Nobody lives forever," he said softly.

Rey's jaw hardened. "But young men of thirty-seven generally outlive their elderly fathers." He raised his chin stubbornly. "But you are certainly not going to die before me anyway. So it doesn't matter."

"Dad…"

"End of discussion, Remus. Change the subject."

Remus bit his lip. His father's desire not to contemplate the possibility of the loss of the last of his beloved family was painfully obvious. Diana's loss was a fresh sting that no amount of time would ever dim and the traumatic events of Remus' injury a few weeks before had clearly placed the prospect firmly and terrifyingly before Rey's eyes. That he did not want to consider that it could happen again now that his son was safe and well was understandable but also, Remus was forced to admit, depressingly unrealistic.

The truth of the matter was that if the war were to go sour, and if Remus was destined to fall as a casualty in the new fight against Voldemort, his father would be left all alone.

Remus couldn't bear the thought of it. But he could not afford to ignore it until it truly was too late.

"I can't, dad." His voice was gentle but his tone was firm as he met the pleading look in his father's eyes. "I can't ignore this. I know you don't want to even consider it, but I'm fighting as part of a _war_ and there is a very real possibility that I could lose my life it in. And I can't stand the thought of you being left alone."

Rey was already shaking his head. "That was true before, but things are different now. You're teaching in a _school_ for goodness sake, not scouting the battlegrounds…"

"And if the events of last full moon prove anything it is that Hogwarts School and the village of Hogsmeade are _major_ targets." Remus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at his reluctant father intensely. "Dad, in this atmosphere, _anything_ could happen. I don't want you be isolated if…"

Rey made an impatient sound as he stared irritably into the flames of the fire. "You talk as though I'm living the life of a _hermit_," he declared abruptly. "The crippled old man trapped in his remote mountain hideaway. I do have _friends_, Remus. I visit Diana's family all the time and they visit me, not to mention my old colleagues, school friends, the academics I submit my dark creature research to. I hate to tell you this, my boy, but much as I love you, you aren't the sum total of my social life."

"I know that." Remus sat back into the sofa with a frown. "But it's not the same as having your family with you."

Rey glanced up at him, eyebrow raised. "If you're angling to have Huw and Bronwyn move back in," he said dryly. "I sincerely doubt they'd come."

Remus sighed. "Dad, that's mum's family. I'm talking about _your _family."

His father's eyes sharpened dangerously. Unnamed emotions swam within their depths. "My _family_ is sitting in this room with me," he stated, his voice soft and low in tone but ironbound with resolve. "Of any other blood relatives I have, one has burnt our bridges and widely scattered the ashes and one we agreed when we picked this date that we weren't going to discuss."

Remus frowned, a faint line creasing his forehead. "And I agree on the latter," he said with a sigh. "But the former… Dad, why don't you get back in contact with your brother? I know he's still alive."

Rey closed his eyes. "Remus, please don't. Just leave it alone."

"Just write him a letter." Remus continued with determination, fighting back his own strong urge to yield to his father's distress and drop the subject. "Call him in the fire. Make some kind of contact. I know you've fallen out in the past but surely, now of all times is the moment to put the past behind you."

Reynard had balled his hands abruptly into fists. "It's really not that simple, Remus. I don't want to go into this now but I think it's safe to assume that it is the understatement of the century to say that I am one of the last people on this earth that Rolphe Lupin ever wants to hear from."

Remus waved a hand impatiently. "When did you last try?"

His father's gaze was filled with sorrowful resignation. "About thirty years ago."

"Dad!"

"Don't you say a word!" Rey snapped sharply across his son's protest. "Remus, this really is none of your business. You have no idea what happened!"

"I think I can make a good guess." Remus met his father's eyes, his gaze steely but tinged around the edges with sympathy. "You see, a few weeks ago I had the chance to take a look at a copy of Kane's Ministry file. And a couple of names caught my eye."

He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the look of apprehension on his father's face as his plunged on beyond the point of no return. "Megara and Randolph Lupin. Killed in an attack by a certain pair of feral werewolves, near Buxton, Derbyshire in early November 1962, aged thirty-seven and nine years respectively. That happened the day before I was bitten. And I know your family home – the family home that your brother inherited – can't be more than ten miles from the place that Hel Kane died. That's the reason I know Rolphe Lupin is alive, dad. An Auror friend of mine mentioned in passing that he saw his name on the invitation list for Abraham Kane's execution. He asked me if we were related. I had to tell him we'd never met."

Gently, he reached forward laying one hand carefully over his father's. "They were his family, weren't they?" He asked, his voice a mere murmur. "Your brother's wife and son. And Kane killed them."

Reynard stared blankly into the fire. His eyes were filled with melancholy regret that echoed over decades.

"He didn't tell me," he whispered softly over the low humming crackle of the fire. "He didn't even contact me to tell me they'd died. And they weren't even found until after the night of the full moon so Alastor didn't know either. They'd barely been reported as missing." He sighed deeply. "Do you know how I found out? A few days after your attack, not long after we'd brought you home, I decided to floo over to my old home to warn my brother and his family about Kane. When I stepped out of the fire, I found myself in the middle of a double funeral." He closed his eyes once more. "It turned out that the threat from Abraham Kane was old news to Rolphe. And thanks to a charming calling card inscribed in blood beside the bodies, it was made pretty clear to Rolphe who Kane really was."

He shook his head quietly, accepting his son's reassuring squeeze of his hand with a slight smile. "He didn't tell the Aurors. He had my father's sense of pride – he still refused to admit that Abel Isaacs was anything to do with him. But the speed with which he dragged me off to his study and the strength of the silencing charms he cast over the door made it pretty clear to me that this was not a case of death by accident. He told me that his wife and son were dead. And he told me who had killed them." Reynard met his son's eyes with a stare filled with hurt and regret. "And then," he added quietly. "He told me it was _my _fault."

Remus stared at his father. "What?"

"He said it was all because of me, because I'd been fool enough to consider his adoption." Reynard took several deep breaths. " He told me I'd encouraged the boy and then dashed his hopes when I should have left well enough alone in the first place. That I'd identified myself and therefore him and his family as targets. That it was my fault that he had lost a wife and son, that his daughters were now motherless."

Rey slipped his hand abruptly free of his son's hold, wrapping his own palm around Remus' fingers instead. "I tried to explain to him what had happened to you, that he was not alone in his suffering," he continued shakily. "But in the end, that only made things worse." His eyes filled with unspoken apologies. "Rolphe wanted nothing to do with another werewolf in the family. He said that you would bring nothing but trouble and that he wanted you nowhere near his two little girls. And then he made it clear in no uncertain terms that he never wanted to set eyes on me, my…" He cleared his throat pointedly. "…_Muggle_-blood wife or my monster of a son again. And then he threw me out."

He grasped his son's hand all the tighter. "I was angry for a long time about the way he spoke to me, the things he called my family. For a while, I no more wanted to see him than he wanted to see me. But Diana..." He smiled suddenly. "You're so like her Remus, you really are – she knew that I hated the way that things had ended between Rolphe and myself. And when we saw in the Daily Prophet a few years later that Rolphe had got married again, it seemed the perfect time to send congratulations and extend the olive branch." He laughed bitterly. "The letter was returned unopened. And just in case that had left me in any doubt, Rolphe had scrawled a message across the envelope. _Stay away from my family_. And that was the last contact we had."

Remus watched his father's expression of pain with no small degree of guilt.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I shouldn't have asked."

"No, no." Rey shook his head gently. "You had every right to know. And in a way Rolphe was right. It _was _a good part my fault that Kane hated us all so much." He patted his son's hand absently. "But you're right – on both counts. Perhaps it is time to try again." He sighed, staring a gaze with Remus for an instant. "I'll think about it, Remus. I'll think about it."

The fire crackled sharply into the silence that followed. The clock on the mantle ticked with metronome regularity as it marked the silent passage of time.

Remus glanced up. It was quarter past two.

An abrupt sigh from his father drew his attention back. Pointedly ignoring the steady march of the clock, Reynard gave his son a tentative smile.

"Well, the snow seems to have passed for the time being," he said with slightly forced cheerfulness. "And I fancy some exercise for once. Why don't we go for a walk?"

Remus frowned slightly, glancing down in the direction of Reynard's crippled leg. "Are you sure you can manage?" he asked in genuine concern. "It's bound to be slippery and you know how your leg gets in the cold…"

His voice tailed off. The long, slow look with which his father had just blessed him spoke far more loudly than words ever could about his answer to _that _question.

Remus glanced over his shoulder out of the window. The snow was glistening invitingly under an ice-blue sky.

He met his father's gaze and returned his smile sincerely.

"That sounds good," he said.

-

Deep in the bowels of the Ministry holding cells, Ministry Aurors Shacklebolt, Dawlish and Gleghorn stood side by side staring at the sturdy door that stood before them. In Gleghorn's arms were chains.

Wordlessly, Kingsley extended his wand and tapped the lock three times.

The door clicked open.

Within, they could hear shouting.

-

As Remus had subtly predicted, Reynard did indeed find the snowy, slippery ground difficult going, but the elder Lupin pushed himself onwards up the mountainside with a kind of grim, dogged determination that made his son wonder whether or not his father had truly suggested they take this walk just for the pleasure of it. The sky glistened a sharp wintery blue, the watery rays of the horizon skimming sun offering light but no warmth against the backs of their cloak as they moved out of the afternoon shadow of the valley into the pitiful light of higher ground, picking their way beneath the skeletal canopy of the forest. Snow dripped to the ground with deferent reluctance from the sun-touched limbs above, although the dull tint of advancing afternoon and the ice cold chill that whispered through the wind to sting exposed skin and sneak its way through careful layering of cloth implied that soon the drops of water would be frozen still once more.

It was not until about twenty minutes after they had set out that Remus' suspicions about his father's possible intent were solidified. Rey, who had until that point stuck faithfully to the familiar path that turned off to the left just ahead to wind its way around the mountain's edge towards Devil's Bridge, veered abruptly away from the well-known track and plunged into the more treacherous footing of the open woods. Taken aback by the sudden, unspoken change of direction, it was several moments before Remus gathered himself sufficiently to hurry in pursuit.

"Dad?"

Reynard halted carefully, leaning against his cane for support as he gathered his misty breath and turned to face his confused son.

"Yes?" he asked softly.

Remus stepped closer, his footstep a soft crunch against the snow, staring at the quiet resolution of his father's face and fighting a sudden suspicion. "Why are we out here, dad? Where are we really going?"

Reynard's sigh was a surge of misty white. In his free hand, something small and round rubbed against his gloved fingers, secured by a chain to his warm robes. It took Remus a moment to realise that it was his father's old brass pocket watch – the pocket watch that he knew was one of the few things that Rafe Lupin had been willing to bequeath his eldest son upon his death. It had lived for most of Remus' childhood in a small wooden box that rested on the mantle in his father's study, removed occasionally for polishing and maintenance but otherwise rarely seen. To his knowledge at least, Rey had never before carried it.

Today, it seemed was an exception.

Abruptly, Rey flicked the watch open with one finger and brusquely checked the time. A moment later, the watch was hidden once more within his robes. His father's tired brown eyes rose gently and met his gaze.

"Somewhere _appropriate_," he replied at last. "And its twenty-to so we'd probably best get a move on."

Remus fell wordlessly into step with his father's uneven gait as they set out once more into the snowy woods, picking their careful way passed concealed roots and slippery patches of un-melted ice. The wind gusting gently through the stark trees and the gentle crunch of their combined footsteps were for a few moments the only sounds to be heard.

"I thought you didn't want to talk about it," Remus remarked at length as he caught his father's elbow gently and eased him over an awkward patch of snowy ground. "I wasn't even sure you wanted to think about it."

Rey gave a wan smile. "Can't say I much do," he responded absently. "But that doesn't mean that I don't feel that it ought to be marked. Moments such as this shouldn't be allowed to simply pass by."

Remus glanced at his father's distant expression, his faraway eyes and knew that for that moment he was lost to the past. "Didn't you want to go?" he asked softly.

Rey emphatically shook his head. "To the Ministry's show execution? No." He glanced up at his son. "Didn't you?"

Remus wearily echoed his father's gesture. "No."

Reynard's smile was slightly bitter. "You know what it'll be like down there." His words were spoken softly but filled with a volume of disdain and sorrow. "The Ministry's glorious moment of triumph. They'll make a spectacle of it. Happy smiling important folks, laughing and joking, come to see the show, not caring at all for the lives that were ruined or lost, not capable of understanding the pain. It's all a game to them. There'll be no respect, no comprehension. That's not marking a moment, that's making a mockery of it." He breathed deeply for a moment, flickering a grateful smile in response to his son's reassuring grip on his shoulder. "It's not right, Remus. Such events need to pass with dignity or they might as well not pass at all. Besides…"

He paused briefly, meeting his son's gaze with a smile that rang with the same complicated cocktail of emotions that Remus had experienced on his visit to Kane in his holding cell.

"You've found your moment of resolution, Remus," he whispered softly. "I want this to be mine."

Remus nodded silently in understanding. With a quietly grateful smile, Reynard turned and led the way through the snowy woods once more.

-

The buzz emanating from Courtroom Ten echoed down the stone corridors to a remote anti-chamber, its door sealed tight and bound secure. A chill unrelated to winter's advance seemed to seep around the edges of the doorframe.

The wizard set to guard it sought to focus. Happy thoughts, he needed happy thoughts, he needed to remember how to be cheerful, how to feel joy, his wedding day, the smile of his baby girl, his days at Hogwarts, playing Quidditch for the House team…. Falling from his broom and breaking his ankles, his wife's post natal depression, his mother's lingering illness, his father's death, an old friend's suicide….

_Gods, how he hated these things!_

Behind the door, the uncaring Dementor drank his joy and waited.

Today it would feast once more.

-

"I think I know where we're going."

Reynard looked sharply across at his son by the fading light of falling afternoon as they eased their way carefully past a patch of tangled briar behind a snow-doused hollow of earth. Remus' eyes were roaming the tiny glade with a kind of distant recognition, an absent stare that implied his thoughts had dropped into past times. He raised an eyebrow slightly at his father's bewilderment.

"I've got my memory back, remember?" he said with a vague smile, tapping one finger against his temple to illustrate the point. "And for all it was so long ago, I think I remember this place. This is where I saw Kane transform." Catching his father's free hand, he helped the older man across a treacherous patch of icy boulders before glancing over his shoulder with deliberate pointedness. "And that means that the place where I was bitten must be somewhere…" He paused a moment to gesture with a sweep of his arm. "Just over _there_."

He turned gently back towards his father. "That's where we're going, isn't it?" he asked softly. "The glade where I was bitten."

Reynard smiled wanly as he fingered the head of his cane. "Yes, it is," he confirmed quietly, his voice low and filled with graveness. "Do you mind?"

Did he mind? Remus wasn't sure. He knew these woods well of course, from childhood explorations both alone and in the company of his friends. With a considerable sense of irony, he recalled a small glade not far ahead where he, James, Sirius and Peter had spent a most enjoyable summer's afternoon between his second and third years, pursuing one another about the branches of a towering old oak tree in a perilous game of treetop tag that was considerably enlivened by James' introduction of dungbombs to proceedings. Combining this happy memory with the dark and sketchy remembrances of the night that changed his life forever, he realised with no small amount of shock that the earth to which he had tumbled, laughing as he dropped stinking of dung from that tree was the very same ground upon which nearly ten years before, his blood had spilled from wolfish wounds and soaked into the soil.

And he'd had no idea. Not then.

"Remus?"

His father's gentle touch against his wrist caused him to start – he jerked his head up in surprise to find his father's concerned eyes boring into his face.

"If you mind, we'll go back." Rey's voice echoed gently against the stripped down winter trees. "We'll apparate back home and no more said about it." He shook his head wearily. "It was a ridiculous idea really, I should have thought…"

"Dad." Remus cut off his father's anxious words gently but firmly. "I don't mind. I was just thinking."

Rey's eyes fixed intensely upon his face. "You really mean that?"

"I really mean it."

"You're not just saying what you think I want to hear?"

Remus grimaced slightly – it was possible for someone to know you a little _too _well. "I'm not just saying it," he declared firmly and was slightly surprised to find that he sincerely meant it. "I was just thinking about my friends, that's all. We used to come up here to mess about when they came by to visit in the summer holidays."

Rey's returning look was slightly reproachful "You never told me you boys used to come this far in. In fact, as I recall, you stared me straight in the eye and faithfully assured me that you'd never strayed out of sight of the path."

Remus fell into step beside his father once more as they slowly resumed their gentle trek towards an unseen destination, smiling slightly at the older man's indignity.

"Well of course I did," he replied with a hint of a smile. "Do you think I enjoyed being told off?"

Rey allowed himself a small chuckle. "I should have known. You always were alarmingly good at hiding mischief behind an innocent expression. A fine skill at masking your emotions, you've got there."

Remus stared up into the snow-coated canopy of empty branches above him, his eyes lingering upon the fading sky and the slow, steady gathering of cloud across the mountain top that implied a fresh coating of snow might soon be drifting earthwards once more, and sighed.

"I've had plenty of practice," he said softly.

He could feel his father's sharp gaze but he did not turn to face him, maintaining his carefully tempered pace so as not to outstrip the older man. He knew as well as Reynard did that his comment had not referred to boyhood pranks.

"Remus…"

"Dad, I'm scared."

Reynard's mouth closed with a shocked snap. He blinked sharply, staring at the rigid shape of his son as he moved in silence at his side, shoulders tense and solid, eyes determinedly forward facing as though he had not spoken at all. It was a protective stance that Rey recognised well.

"Scared of what?" he asked softly.

Remus kept his gaze upon the uncertain footing of the ground before him, the evenness of his voice betraying the skill his father had recently praised.

"Of how close I keep coming," he said, his voice low and deceptively calm. "Of what's inside me, of what came to be inside me just a few dozen metres from here. Of waking up one foul morning and finding I'm no longer myself." His eyes stared blankly into the middle-distance. "Of waking up and finding I'm Kane."

Rey took a sharp breath as he reached out with his free hand and wrapped his fingers reassuringly around his son's shoulder. "That's not going to happen, Remus," he replied firmly. "You've beaten it back too many times."

"And that's part of the problem." Remus swallowed a mouthful of icy air and released another with explosive abruptness. "I told Kane that I was the stronger because I had not given in to my wolf. But he retorted that the wolf would always be there, always waiting and that some day I would no longer be able to fight."

Remus' sharp halt almost knocked Rey from his feet as his son wheeled suddenly to face his father. "Dad, what if he's _right_?" he exclaimed abruptly. "The wolf will always be there, in my mind, fighting me, fighting for control of me and it scares me half to death to think that all it might take is _one bad day_ for it to win forever."

"That's not going to happen," Rey repeated more sternly. "It's over now, it's gone, _he's _gone, or as good as. You don't have to worry about losing, Remus. You're stronger than that."

"Am I?" Remus' voice was bleak and pained. "That night in Hogwarts; the night I thought I was losing control – I've never been so afraid in all my life. And when I realised how badly I was injured, when I thought that I was going to die – I was almost _glad_. I _wanted _to die because the alternative I was facing was so much worse that it didn't even bear to be thought of. And yes, it's over now, but what about next full moon or the full moon after, or the next tragedy to strike or the next bad batch of Wolfsbane – what _then_? I know I can hold it for now. But I don't know if I can hold it back _forever_."

"I do."

Remus stared at Reynard. Reynard stared back.

His father's eyes were filled with absolute certainty.

Remus sighed deeply. His father's reassuring confidence in him was comforting, of course it was. But it was also painfully unrealistic. Reynard had never faced the reality of what the wolf could do to his son's body and mind, not really, he had never known the struggle to hold onto precious humanity beneath a rising moon, to feel the contortions of an inescapable transformation. He had never even seen his son transformed. How could he be so sure? How could he ever understand?

"Dad." Shaking his head slightly, Remus rested his hand briefly over the top of his father's continued grasp on his shoulder. "I love you. And I'm grateful that you believe in me so, I really am. But you don't understand what it's _like_. You've never seen what the wolf can do to me, inside and out. You don't know how it _feels._"

The wind gusted slightly, driving chill points of ice against exposed skin and drifting the loose edges of cloaks and robes in its passing. Overhead, the snow clouds were converging. But neither Reynard nor Remus noticed.

"No, I don't know how it feels." The elder Lupin regarded his son seriously for a moment, his grip upon his shoulder tightening gently. "But I have seen more than you know. Remus, I was at Hogwarts on the night of the full moon. Albus called me not long after it happened and I came straight away." He paused a moment, lip twisting slightly as he caught the expression of growing horror that was spreading across the features of his son, but spoke to confirm his fear nonetheless. "I sat with you most of the night."

Remus felt a strange chill, a chill unrelated to wind, or ice, or gathering snow, run down the length of his spine. His mind was spinning anxiously – it had not even crossed his thoughts that his father might have been there that night, that he could have fallen witness to the one experience that he had never wanted either of his parents to see. His father had been _there_. And he must have _seen_…

"You saw?" he whispered, his voice rich with quiet horror. "You saw…_it_?"

Reynard's gaze did not falter although his jaw tensed noticeably. "I saw _you_. And I watched you fight and battle in spite of your weakness, in spite of the fact that it was not your time to rule that body, not the shape and form born to you. And you still _won_, Remus. You're still _you_." He smiled then, a gentle smile rich with a father's pride. "And that's how I know that it will never beat you. You first won this battle when you were three years old and I fail to see why you shouldn't keep winning. Whatever traumas you suffer, whatever moments of weakness, you will always come back to yourself in the end. Because you are stronger than it is. And you always will be."

Remus stared for a moment, just stared at his father's quiet form silhouetted against the snowy woodland backdrop, at the pride, the belief, the _love_ written across his features, and the overwhelming sincerity in his eyes. The sudden surge of gratitude that swelled throughout the length of his body and mind almost knocked him sideways with its power.

"It's because of you, you know," he replied with feeling, meeting his father's eyes and sharing the depths of emotion that he felt with his closest living relative. "You and mum. I owe you both so much."

Reynard gave a sudden lopsided grin as he gave his son's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "It can't have been _all_ us. After all, I will never understand how a pair of old Hufflepuffs like your mother and me managed to produce a son that is such a _Gryffindor_."

Remus smiled in spite of himself. "I'm sorry to be such a disappointment to you."

Rey returned the smile as he patted his son's shoulder a final time and turned quietly to resume the final stretch of their long walk towards a place that was rightly appropriate for such a day.

"Oh, don't worry," he said with a jovial mock despair that broke the deathly seriousness of moments before. "I'll get over it."

-

Courtroom Ten was filled to bursting point. Cheerful figures in their best clothes, figures to whom this place, this feral, meant nothing but a spectacle, laughed and chatted amongst themselves.

Only those who knew the pain were silent, sombre and lost in thought.

In the corner, beside a quiet little door that led from holding cells, Aurors jerked to attention. In the centre of the room, an officious little Ministry aide stood on his tiptoes before the carefully erected transparent barrier that protected the guests from both the prisoner and his executioner and waved his arms for silence.

A chill cold touched against the souls of every person in the room. The laughter sharply died.

It was almost time.

The door opened.

-

The glade was silent.

Remus allowed his eyes to swept wordlessly over the still clearing before him, a small uneven opening beneath the canopy of trees, marked by small scrubby tangles of undergrowth and a small rounded crater-like hollow smoothed across with snow whose slight puddling of water towards the centre was already beginning to solidify back into ice. The leafless trees brooded fitfully around its borders, stirring only occasionally in the breeze.

In short, it was an ordinary woodland clearing. There was no sign but the long healed over remains of the spell blasted crater to imply the life changing events that had passed beneath its gaze more than thirty years before.

Remus shivered. But in that moment, there was no chill wind.

"Here we are." Rey's voice reverberated gently against the towering trunks. "Full circle."

The wind curled gently across the silent glade, stirring loose snow and vibrating the thickets with a woody rattle. Neither man moved. Neither man spoke.

"It's at three, isn't it?" Reynard's words were spoken softly, gently, carefully emotionless as his eyes remained fixed upon the snowy ground before him and the unseen ghosts of the past. Slowly Remus nodded.

"Yes, it is."

There was a gentle rustling of robes. A moment later, Remus heard the distinctive click of his father's old pocket watch being opened. In spite of its rare excursions from its box in the study, Remus knew that his father had always ensured that this watch kept perfect time.

"It's just gone five to."

Remus said nothing. There really was very little to say.

The quiet ticking of the watch drifted with quiet regularity along the softly gusting breeze for a few yards, only to be swallowed gently but firmly by the silence. Two pairs of ears did not care to hear it. Two pairs of eyes were lost in visions of the past and faraway events of the immediate future.

The wind trembled leafless branches in a gentle wintery sigh.

"There but for the Grace of God go I."

Remus was hardly aware that he had spoken, his gaze lost to the distance, his words a low murmur of thoughts escaping out loud but they earned the sharp attention of his father.

"_Never_." There was a deep strength that belayed the quietness of that single word. "We just covered this, Remus. It would have and will never happen to _you_."

"It could have done." Slowly, softly, Remus turned his gaze to meet his father's. "If not for your memory charm, it would have done. I would have been a feral, dad. A killer. Oblivious to everything that matters."

Rey quietly shook his head. "You fought it off, Remus. I just gave you the opportunity."

Remus sighed as he turned his eyes once more to the snowy glade before him. "It still feels rather too close for comfort," he said softly. "If Kane had escaped with me as he planned, it might have been me receiving that Kiss today for killing you and mum."

Rey rubbed his gloved fingers gently over the little pocket watch resting against his palm, its rhythmic ticking marking out the steady march of time. "But it's _not_, Remus," he replied, his words low but firmly determined. "It didn't happen and so it doesn't _matter_. There are two ways to deal with the curse of lycanthropy. _He_ chose the wrong one. _You _chose the one that makes me proud."

Silence reasserted itself gently over all but the soft ticking of the watch. Time crept steadily onwards.

"Abel." The name shivered as it was cast from Remus' lips to dance upon the wind. "Do you think he could have been saved?"

Unmistakable pain, the etched outlines of years of guilt and regret flickered across Reynard's face.

"It's far too late now," he replied softly, emotions riding the gamut in his voice. "It's been too many years. What remains of that human boy, if anything, will be crushed and twisted beyond repair beneath the weight of the wolf. But in the past…perhaps." His voice caught slightly as his fingers closed around the pocket watch with sudden sharpness. "Perhaps if we had taken him in, things would have been different. I won't deny that the thought has crossed my mind more times than I would ever be capable of counting. But then again – as his eventual actions showed, Abel Isaacs was never the most stable of children. It's more than possible he would have found other ways to ruin himself given time. It certainly wouldn't have surprised me. He seemed to hold the very worst of both his parents." His deep sigh gusted out onto the winds. "Not to mention of course, that if we had taken him in, we would have almost certainly never had _you_. And cruel as it sounds, that isn't a trade that I could ever willingly make."

He stared absently towards the sky. "So perhaps, once," he concluded, his voice echoing with the sorrow of the years. "But once he gave himself to the wolf, he was lost forever. There was no going back after that."

The dull, watery light of the sun faded slowly away, leeched by the enfolding presence of brewing snow clouds. The wind whistled abruptly in protest.

The watch ticked on unconcerned.

"I miss Rhea." Rey's voice shivered with the strength of long emotion.

Remus nodded quietly. "I miss mum."

"So do I, Remus. So do I."

And then with a tinny trio of chimes that seemed to echo and reverberate through the silent trees with a gravitas unbecoming to such a sound, Reynard Lupin's pocket watch struck three.

A whispered vibration, a tremble of remembered pain seemed to trace its way around the crescent moon of tooth scars across Remus Lupin's side. A moment later it was gone.

Remus closed his eyes. He heard his father's sigh whisper through the icy air to vanish on the breeze.

It was done.

It was over.

At long last, after so many years, it was over.

And they had triumphed, some would say. They had lived through trials and adversities that would have broken other men to come to this place at this moment on a cold and silent Sunday. But somehow, standing in a freezing glade on a leaf-stripped hillside with his crippled father, the inevitably fading memory of his mother and the full moon lurking as ever and waiting to draw him once more into its thrall, it felt a hollow victory in a war that Remus had never asked to fight.

To his left, he saw his father rub an absent hand along his crippled leg. There were tears in his eyes.

Uncaring of solemnity, the brass pocket watch resumed its tick anew. Time moved on.

And so should he.

The realisation was gently abrupt. It was over. This chapter of his life was closed. And it was time to move on.

And he had much to move towards.

He still had his father. He still had friends. In spite of the best efforts of many, including himself, he still had his students and his job. He still had his home. He still had the Order. He still had work, important work, yet to do for the good of the wizarding world.

And he still had himself.

And he would stay himself.

And that was the most important thing of all.

He felt a gentle touch against his arm. He looked up and found himself staring into Reynard Lupin's tear-touched eyes. His father gave a tentative smile.

"Let's go home, son," he softly said.

Remus gently returned the smile. "Apparating?"

Rey shook his head. "I feel like a walk."

Remus nodded quietly, his eyes running quickly over the difficult ground that lay along their route back to the path. He offered his arm.

After taking a moment to tuck his pocket watch away into the folds of his cloak, Reynard quietly accepted it.

They shared a soft smile.

And then, side by side, they turned and left the glade behind them, treading over their old footprints as they started down the hill for home.

And in their wake, the gathered clouds released their burden. Gently drifting whiteness spiralled downwards and remade the snow anew.

THE END.

**A/N**: Well. That's it. The end of Oblivious.

-wipes brow- Well I don't know about you guys, but I'm exhausted! ;)

When I started this fic, way, way back at the beginning of last July, I had intended it to be a short little fic, a quick exercise to renew my energy to write and bolster my flagging interest in my perpetually unfinished fantasy novel. I thought perhaps, twelve chapters, and a couple of months and that would be that.

42 chapters, 272 pages of Word, 151,603 words and six and a half months later, I finally typed the final word. It was Sunday, 19th December.

I am not, perhaps, the best person in the world when it comes to estimating time and length….;)

But I have enjoyed writing this fic very much indeed, firstly because it was simply fun in spite of chapters of author-tormenting conversations (-cough- 19 and 41 -cough-)and chapters-that-would-not-die (I think chapter 32 turning into chapters 32-40 is probably the record) and secondly because of the wonderful response I've had from all of my lovely and intelligent reviewers. Thank you all very much indeed – you've made this a wonderful experience for me and I'm very grateful. I am an unashamed feedback junkie and you've all made my ravenous ego very happy….;)

I have also had queries in regards to a possible sequel. I'm going to lay my cards on the table at this point – yes, I have an idea for a sequel. What I have much less of is time to write it. Heck, I barely had time to write _this_ story by the end! I really would like very much to get back to the reason I started this in the first place – my poor, neglected novel - and I'm really not sure I have enough time to write two stories at once. My beta Chriss (to whom much kudos in regards to this story must go) is also my novel proof reader and has set me a ruthless deadline to spur me on to complete it, edit it and send it to a publisher. If I keep to this deadline, hopeful it won't be too long. But we are into big scary IF territory here.

So I really do want to write the sequel and I will do so just as soon as I can. But I have no idea how soon that will be. When it does appear, it will be called "Imperius." If you do want to keep track of my progress, I intend to use my livejournal (see the homepage link in my profile) as my major writing moan/progress report forum so I would recommend keeping an eye over there. You'll hear it there first. :)

I'd just like to thank you all very much again for reading this story and making my first journey into Potterverse fanfiction such a pleasant one. In the fingers crossed hopefully not too distant future, I look forward to coming back and doing it all over again. :)

Thank you all and to all best wishes until we meet again:)

This is Jess Pallas and Oblivious, signing off..:)

**Reviewer Responses**:

**JennyJoy4 **– Good grief, that was lengthy! Not that I mind…;) And thank you so much! Literature? Since I would love to be an author-finger crossed- there! I'm glad it all worked for you and I really appreciate the flattering comments:)

**Rebecca Goose** – Thank you:)

**Curls of Serenity** – Thank you! I really didn't want it to come down to violence – violence was Kane's domain and I wanted Remus to be the one in control. I have no doubt more attempts will be made on Harry, but not in this fic…:)

**bookworm-jill** – No nastiness, I promise. A bit of ill feeling but it'll all come nice for him in the end. :)

**The Thief Kuronue** – The cocktail of emotions gave me hell, as the note said! That paragraph in which I described it ended up being my way of trying to explain to myself as much as anything what was going through his head! I can't believe it's over either!

**student **– Thank you very much:)

**Jello **-accepts the award with a modest bow- Thank you very much! I do hope to write a sequel if I possibly can so keep an eye out. It'll be called "Imperius" if it comes. :)

**Liv Naravul** – I hope you had a nice holiday. :) Thank you very much! I'm afraid I can't really find the words to offer my appreciation for the lovely reviews either, but I appreciate them all. :)

**Deeply Impressed** – Thank you! If I can find time, I hope to see more from me too. :)

**Howling-wolf** – As you can see, this last chapter was the longest of all. I hope the ending met with satisfaction. :)

I hope to post a final reviewer response along with a little "Making of Oblivious" piece I wrote for the Mugglenet forum sometime next week. :)


	43. The Oblivious Annotations

_This is just a little additional I wrote for the Mugglenet forums explaining how this fic came to be the monster it is. But first, some last replies_

**Final Reviewer Responses**:

**aurelie1, animaluvr1, Jello, The Thief Kuronue, Howling-Wolf Liv Naravul**- My loyal band of reviewers! Thank you all very, _very_ much for all your nice comments and reviews over the weeks! It's been much appreciated. :)

**superpan** – Ironically, Britain has had an unusually mild winter this year. Saying that, we had random snow here this morning! Thank you _very_ much for all your comments. :)

**CurlsofSerenity** – Well he almost did but Remus was wise to him. I have an idea for a sequel but no time to write it; I've also done a short RL/NT piece in my lunch hours based on chapter 37-38 of Oblivious which I'll be posting soon. Thanks for all your reviews:)

**JennyJoy4** – Glad you liked it. Thanks for all your reviews:)

**Malyficent **– Thanks very much. Much appreciated:)

**Neoma** – Glad you finished term! Thanks ever so for all the nice reviews:)

**Neswrin **– Thank you very much indeed! I always feel actions and choices should have consequences mainly because that is the way life is. Glad you liked it. :)

**ExtremelyMoved, Miss Anonymous hp, … preggyuo**– Thank you very much. :)

**Unforgettable** – Don't feel too sorry for him. In the end it is his own fault. Thanks for your reviews:)

**Arcadia-of-the-East** – I felt a quiet contemplative last scene was in order after all the chaos. Thanks very much for reviewing:)

**Esined** – I wondered where you'd gone at FictionAlley. :) I felt given the connection between them that Remus ought to feel something. Glad you've enjoyed it. :)

**jasmin-rose** – I like Buffy but there was no direct influence, at least not consciously. Glad you liked it. :)

I'd like to say a big thank you to each and every person who has reviewed this fic, especially my regulars, bless your hearts. :) Reading your reviews has been a pleasure and a privilege. :)

_**The Oblivious Annotations**_

Well, for those of you who were curious as to how I got from twelve chapters to the refusing-to-end montrosity you see today ;) I dug up my old notes and I'll attempt to explain how the hell this happened. :)

In the Beginning... there was much less plot. As simple as that really. I think I already said that when I first conceived this fic, it was just the very basic events of the flashback (the raid in Derbyshire, Kane's break-in, the kidnapping and the bite in the woods ) with Kane dying after the attack; but since I didn't want to write an entire OC perspectived fic I added the idea of bookend chapters of Remus being told by Rey what happened and dealing with the aftermath. That version would probably have been no more than a few chapters long.

However, I made the cardinal mistake of wanting to write much more for Remus (bless him :) - got my wish, didn't I?) and began to expand upon my bookends. The first thing I did was resurrect Kane in the present and bring him back into Remus' awareness as an Order threat so as to lead to a peak in his interest and the discovery of who bit him. In the faraway original version, Rey's attack on Kane that beat him away from Remus was fatal for Kane - at this point also, Kane was not related to Rey in any way. He was just hacked off about Hel's death. The whole relations business was something that I came up with only when I had actually started writing - around chapter three, I think. That's when the expansions really took flight - suddenly I had a lot more plot and plot depth to play with...;)

So - The Original Twelve Chapters at the time that I began to write were:

_1: The Howling_

_2: The Pensieve_

These are the only two chapters in this fic to be written whilst I still believed the story would be twelve chapters and they remain true to my original intents for them. This was however supposed to be The Howling's one and only appearence in the fic. The later Howling chapters were conceived after writing had begun, firstly because I liked the place so much I wanted to use it again, secondly because my reviewers seemed to like it so much too and thirdly because I had several lines in my head for an exchange between Tonks and Remus in The Howling that were screaming out to be used. I did indeed use them. ;) Early on, believe it or not, Kane was not present in these scenes - it was just Remus being caught in a raid. However I wanted to include another confrontation between the two and to play a bit with the possibility of Remus going feral again, so Kane gained an extra scene that it is now hard to imagine how I ever though I'd write it without him! I also originally intended for the entire events of Tonks and Remus' (admittedly then much easier) escape, through his night in captivity and getting told off by Dumbledore and Moody to be one chapter. But I had fun, so it grew a bit...;)

_3: The Tribute_

This chapter is now chapters three, four and five. I wanted to do a scene where the twins found out about Mr Moony very much but it went a little over and so I split the chapter in two and then three. A taste of things to come... :p

The later events of this chapter also exist much as was planned, minus the early hints of the dream, which would not have appeared until after the Werewolf Lesson but were moved to pad a bit when I feared this chapter was running short. The Snape scene I added just before posting at the suggestion of my beta and later led me to involve Snape much more than I had intended because I discovered I liked writing the sarky git. ;)

_4: The Werewolf Lesson_

This chapter appears almost exactly as I meant it to, minus the first dream which I promoted to the chapter before. Most of the early chapters are pretty much unchanged. It's later things got so terribly out of hand. :huh:

_5: Hogsmeade_

Became "A Walk in Hogsmeade" because it sounded better. ;) In these original notes, Remus survived his encounter with Kane entirely unhurt. In the margin I've scribbled a note to say - could he be injured and be visited by his dad in the Hospital Wing? Then when I wrote the chapter, maybe slightly hurt became grievously injured. Cruel I know, but it just worked and I went with it. Out of the increased seriousness of the situation came the Hospital Wing scenes that followed and the involvement of the Ministry.

_6: The Dream_

Way back when, this chapter would have been simply Remus, shocked after his encounter with Kane, having the dream about his bite and going to Winter Hollow to talk to his dad about it. Even after I considered hurting him, I had still intended him to travel the next day. But when I wrote the previous chapter and injured him so severely, I changed plans on the hop and decided that dad would be coming to him. I then decided to include the Tonks interview scene because I felt someone ought to have interviewed him and it might as well be Tonks. Strange to say considering the depth of her involvement now but when I started, Tonks' one and only appearance in this fic was at the Weasley Dinner right at the start. But I wrote the interview scene, found I liked writing Tonks very much too and decided to throw her into the mix when I came up with plans to revisit The Howling. The rest is history...:) All this meant of course this quick precursor chat with Tonks before the nitty-gritty of the dream and talking to Rey lengthened and resulted in a three way chapter split.

_7: Kane_

The first flashback chapter. Including the events of the death of Hel, Kane's break in at the Lupin's and the kidnapping of Remus. Okay, that sounds over optimistic now. But bear in mind there was no family talk to have back then, nor family history to be covered. When the family history idea developed, I turned this chapter into two "A Challenging Case" and "By Moonlight" (later "Into the Woods" - I swapped the two titles when I realised the events of By Moonlight took place before moonrise!) "A Challenging Case" then expanded to include "The Chase" when my explanation of the family history took longer than expected. The short precursor to what became the Rey-Kane confrontation chapter "Into the Woods" grew into "Family Ties" parts one and two in the writing.

_8:The Bite_

Now the chapters called "By Moonlight""The Wall" and "Waiting" - covering Remus being bitten through to Obliviate! They wrote much as I intended only a bit longer...;) The chapter with Rey and Diana watching over Remus in the aftermath was a later idea.

_9: A Matter of Blame_

The aftermath chat - Remus coming to terms etc. Originally there was a huge amount for him to come to terms with, since when I started Kane wasn't a relation only a bloody menace. At this early stage, Diana had also died of natural causes. I changed her death to more suspicious as I wrote chapter 3 in order to give myself options to expand upon here if I ran out of things to write and later used it as a catalyst for the new ideas for The Howling and the fresh importance of Remus' potential renewed ferality which was an idea that only came about when I decided to revive The Howling and make Kane a presence there.

_10: Too Close to Home_

This was originally the events of "The Draw of the Moon" and the chapter that still bears this name. Note the large gap here - I jumped straight from flashback to finale! ;) In my original plans (which I scrapped when I realised they were frankly daft and Hogwarts teachers weren't that gullible) Kane, polyjuiced as Hagrid entered the Great Hall and told a story about a FAKE attack at Hogsmeade that drew the teachers out so he could wreak havoc. This was a plan fraught with more holes than a Swiss cheese. The teachers would have soon realised there was no attack and returned, Kane would have had to impersonate Hagrid's accent, Remus would have sensed Kane's presence (for a while, he wasn't even going to be there - I considered writing this chapter from Harry's POV, an idea quickly discarded as inconsistent) and I just couldn't reconcile it in any way that would work. So I decided the attack would have to be real, Hagrid would have to be knocked out later (leading to my infamous plugged plot hole... ) and Remus would have to be present. But how to avoid him sensing Kane? Well, what if he wasn't feeling very well anyway...? The Wolfsbane subplot, including the chapter "The Aconite Maelstrom" was born. ;) The Marauder's Map cliffie is the only part of that entire sorry mess of irreconcilable bad planning that remained almost exactly as intended. :)

_11: Werewolf in Hogwarts_

Changed to "The Alpha of Hogwarts" which sounded much cooler. The events of the chapters "Liber Emitto" and Alpha of course - Liber was only supposed to be a quick intro but the Nick idea came as I wrote and lengthened it to chapter standards. Alpha was originally a straight fight in the entrance hall (I was worried the chapter would be too short!) but the ideas such as saving Snape and the secret passage came later. The chandelier was in from the start, but who would drop it was not decided until after writing The Werewolf Lesson. Originally, Remus was going to bite through a rope and drop it himself but that really seemed a bit silly in hindsight...;)

_Epilogue: A Quiet Word_

Ummm...I should probably admit - originally Remus survived the fight unhurt and all the consequences of his being hurt that I wrote for weeks and couldn't seem to finish off didn't exist. Rey did not feature in the fic again, there was no Rita Skeeter, no kids, no scenes in the Hospital Wing, no drink with Tonks or talk with Snape and no big decision. Remus simply went to the cell and talked to Kane (who was due for execution, not the Kiss at this point). This chapter however is an idea that came right from the very beginning – I always intended that Remus and Kane's final and conclusive battle would be one of words and emotions not physical brawn. The epilogue that followed – the quiet moment between Remus and Rey – was a later idea that emerged when I decided that ending after the talk seemed a little abrupt and that Rey needed a payoff.

Well, that's it. A full explanation on how this monster came to be. I hope that makes it clearer (and shows yet again how inconcise I am :p )

Again thank you all very much and I hope to see you all again. :)


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